


A Rose by Any Other Name

by rosepetalsofsin



Series: Mary!verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Twins, Coming of Age, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Hint: Monsters are Not Friendly Here, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Sam Winchester Has a Twin, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Teen Angst, Touch-Starved, Twincest, Underage Masturbation, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2020-09-07 11:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20308477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetalsofsin/pseuds/rosepetalsofsin
Summary: You know part of this story.This is the story of the Winchesters we all know and love. The story of growing up with no one but each other, nothing but the promise that the world isn't safe and a bond that no one else could ever understand. A story of falling in love before they even know what it means; a tale of following one's heart to the most forbidden territories. This may be the beginning, but there's so much more to this story that you have yet to know.It starts with a deal, a marriage, a fire—oh, and Sam Winchester's twin sister.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that's been in the works for years, about a character that's been in development for even longer. What was once just a fun idea for an OC became an awesome creation, an epic story that can no longer be kept where others cannot indulge. Rosemary Winchester's story begins here in pre-series times, and it is planned to continue and coincide with the events that lead all the way through seasons 1-15. 
> 
> In light of the last season currently airing, I wanted to begin releasing chapters. I personally intend to see that this story is written and published in a continuous series with the help of my lovely beta (and, thus, listed co-author). This story is meant to eventually be completed in its entirety for all to read, share, and love as we do. Think of it as an opportunity to start Supernatural over again, but to do it a little different. Like if Sam Winchester had a twin sister and HBO greenlit the series, instead. That's basically where we're going with this, but with big plans to make it even better.
> 
> Additional tags/ratings will be added as more chapters are published. All kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! <3

**November 2, 1983**

It begins on a cool autumn night in Lawrence, Kansas.

The cold wind sways the trees outside of the Winchester home, but it’s warm inside for the family of four. It’s comfortable enough for Mary to wear her white nightgown, while their four-year-old son, Dean, gets to wear pajama pants with a matching button-up shirt. Perfect for bedtime.

“Come on, let’s say goodnight to your brother and sister.” Mary carries her oldest son on her left hip into the nursery, flipping the light on with her free hand before setting Dean down carefully.

He doesn’t have to be told twice, as he dashes to the wooden crib that sits just beneath the double window across the room. It’s specially made for the two bundles that lay inside, where little Samuel lays on the right end and Rosemary sleeps on the left. 

Dean goes for the right side first, where he has his own stool for times like this. He still has to press up on his toes and hold tightly to the wooden frame to lean over his little brother. “Good night, Sam.” 

Carefully, he leans down to press a quick kiss to his brother’s forehead. Once he’s done, he quickly steps off his stool and picks it up so he can move to the other end, where his sister lies. She giggles at him as soon as he’s on the stool and directly in her sight like she knows what’s coming.

“Night, Rosie.” Dean leans down and kisses her forehead, too.

The routine has been the same for the last six months, and Mary is thankful for it. She can’t help but smile, enamored with the kind nature of her firstborn son. He’s always so sweet, even without being asked. It’s almost enough to bring a tear to her eye, but she blinks it away so she can join her son by the side of the crib. 

Mary places one hand on Dean’s back and the other on the side of the crib, looking between her two beautiful babies. Dean moves to the side so Mary can have her turn. He watches her as she leans over Rosemary first, whispering, “Goodnight, my loves.” She kisses her daughter’s forehead gently and pulls back with a soft smile before she turns to Sam and does the same.

“Hey, Dean.”

Mary turns with Dean, the four-year-old lighting up the moment he sets his eyes on John. “Daddy!”

John chuckles and crouches down so Dean can run to him, scooping him up in his arms and standing with him triumphantly. He smells of car oil and grease, but Dean doesn’t mind; to him, he simply smells like his dad. “What do you think, you think little Mary and Sammy are ready to play catch with us yet?”

“ _ Rosie _ ,” Mary chides, though it’s lighthearted. She wanted to name their daughter Rose while John favored the idea of naming her after the most beautiful woman he had ever met. Though flattering, Mary was set in her idea, so they compromised and named her Rosemary. Nevertheless, John still likes to tease, as is obvious in the way he smiles at her.

Dean shakes his head at John’s question, giggling softly. “No, Daddy.”

“No?” John smiles at Dean and looks up at Mary. He can see how tired she is in her features, having spent another day home alone with the kids. She still smiles at her husband and steps across the carpet. 

She makes her way around them, asking, “You got him?”

“Yeah, I got him.” John holds Dean while Mary drags her hand across Dean’s back, the last goodnight before she walks across the hallway and into their bedroom. Dean watches her go and lays his head on John’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his neck. John knows he’s tired, just as the twins must be.

The long hours at the garage may keep him away, but John’s thankful to be home for this. “Sweet dreams, you two.” Both twins turn their heads towards him in unison, which only serves to make him smile. John turns off the light switch and spares them one last look before he turns back into the hallway. He leaves the door open behind him as he takes Dean to lay him down for the night.

The twins are left to themselves. The only noises to fill their nursery are their own cooes, back and forth to the other, bantering as they often do until they both fall silent to sleep. 

This night, however, neither babies find sleep. Their bantering ceases after so long, time passing them. Their eyes drooped but never fully closes, lying awake, waiting. For what, they did not know, but they were right to. 

The first sign is their mobile above their crib. It turns on by itself, begins to spin in slow circles while the twins stare up. Beyond their sight, the clock on the wall comes to an abrupt stop, the time stuck at 8:10.

At such a young age, the twins have no understanding of what is and is not normal. So when they look up to see a pair of yellow eyes glancing between them in the dark, they have no reason to fuss. All they can see is a dark figure standing above their crib, only illuminated by the little filtering in through the thin curtains covering the window above their crib. 

The figure smiles down at them, but he does not say a word. Rosemary and Sam remain wide awake, looking into those yellow eyes with simple curiosity. They have no idea what his intentions are, what he has in store for both of them.

The crescent moon nightlight on their wall flickers, but the bright yellow of his eyes never fails to shine. Across the hall, the baby monitor by Mary’s side of the bed begins to emit a sound of interference, screeching on its low volume until Mary has to sit up and turn it down.

“John?” She turns in bed in hopes that she will find her husband there, but she is alone. She throws the blankets back and gets out of the bed, rubbing her eyes as she makes her way to the nursery. With the door open, she can see someone standing by the crib, and she registers the silhouette to belong to her husband. “John, are they hungry?”

The figure turns only a fraction, shushing her quietly.

Mary closes her eyes. “Okay,” she gives in, turning around to go back to bed. That’s when she sees something flicker out of the corner of her eye, calling her attention to the end of the hall. The light fixture by the stairs flickers on and off, and Mary can’t stop the goosebumps that erupt across her skin as she sees it.

The house has some years to it; they knew that when they bought it. Mary brushes it off as bad wiring, but she that doesn’t stop her from hastily walking towards it. She doesn’t feel a chill, which she registers as a good sign. Carefully, she taps her fingernail against the light fixture, tapping a few times until the light returns to its constant glow.

The goosebumps fade, but the hairs on the back of her neck stay raised. She shakes her head and makes the decision to get a glass of water, just to help her clear head before she goes back to sleep. Mary takes the stairs slowly, tired but aware enough to hear the sound of the television as she finds herself at the end of the steps. 

John is lying asleep in his recliner, the television the only light to show her the proof of his features. Mary feels her stomach drop, her hand gripping the railing of the stairs to keep upright. “Oh, my God!” 

She takes off up the stairs immediately, taking them two at a time, calling for her babies, “Sammy! Rosie!”

When she comes to the door of the nursery, she doesn’t hesitate to run inside. The figure doesn’t budge, but Mary comes to a stop. It’s then that she sees what he is doing, his arms held out so that born hands remain above the twins’ faces. From his wrists drips what she knows immediately to be blood, the tint of it unmistakable as it fell to their small mouths.

The moment Mary tries to lunge after him, she feels herself freeze, held by what she knows must be the creature’s power. 

“I was wondering if you were gonna recognize me,” he spoke, turning his face so that she could see his eyes. The yellow eyes take her back to a time ten years before, recognition and dread overcoming her face as she looked at him. “Remember me now?”

Mary doesn’t have the time to even speak before she feels something inside of her twisting, the pain of it ripping a blood-curdling scream from her lips as blood pools across her abdomen. It flows down the hall and wakes John downstairs, making him jump up from his chair and dash up the stairs, calling out his wife’s name.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Yellow Eyes warned, pulling his wrists back from Sam and Rosemary. With a flick of his hand, he flings Mary towards the opposite wall, forcing her up the wall further and further until she is left on the ceiling, silent in her screaming. His other hand, he makes the door close, setting his own scene.

Yellow Eyes flashes a smile at the twins before he smirks up at Mary. John’s steps are head down the hall, so he raises his hand up and snaps his fingers. He disappears in an instant, and a moment later, John gets the door open.

“Mary?” He does not look up, so he finds the room empty. He breathes out a sigh of relief and goes to the crib, looking down at his children. “Hey, Sammy. Rosie.” He smiles down at them and places his hands on the crib. “It’s okay.”

That’s when he sees something, a droplet from seemingly nowhere that lands next to Sam’s head. John brings his finger to it to get a good look at it, but as he does, more droplets fall to the back of his hand.

He stops breathing the moment he registers the red tint to it. John is in denial for only a moment before he can bring himself to look up.

Mary is pinned to the ceiling, white as a ghost and bleeding from her abdomen. She is pale, her mouth caught in a silent scream. John’s face screws up in horror at the sight, collapsing onto the floor as he holds onto the crib. “No! Mary!”

The moment he says her name, flames burst around her, engulfing her and the ceiling. John cries out to her one last time, but there is nothing he can do to help. He looks into her eyes before the flames overtake her face, and he has to raise his hand to look away, the flames burning bright and hot in the small nursery.

The twins begin to scream and cry, snapping John out of his shock. He stands grabs Rosie with his left arm and Sam with his right, rushing out of the room. John finds Dean already in the hallway, a fearful look in his eyes.

“Daddy?” Dean’s green eyes are wide as he looks up at John, who crouches down and offers both twins to him. 

“Take your brother and sister outside as fast as you can!” He hands them over one by one before Dean even has a moment to answer, but he uses both arms to hold both twins tight to his chest. “Don’t look back. Now, Dean, go!”

Dean doesn’t have to be told twice. He turns around with both Sam and Rosemary in his arms, holding tightly to them as he carries them down the stairs. John goes back for the nursery, but he finds Mary’s entire body engulfed in flames. He calls her name brokenly, the flames taking over the room as a whole.

He turns to leave, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees something he thinks must be his imagination, a trick of the flames: yellow eyes staring at him, there one moment and gone the next. 

John can’t stay in there a moment longer, the flames nearly lapping at his robe. He dashes down the stairs and out the door. He sees Dean stand in the yard, staring up at the nursery windows where he can see the flames just inside the glass, smell the smoke coming from the house. John runs to them and grabs Dean so he has all three of them in his arms, running from the house.

Behind him, the nursery windows shatter with an explosion from inside, sending smoke and flames billowing into the night sky. John doesn’t stop until they’re to the street, where he has to turn and look back at the house. 

It doesn’t take long for the fire department to arrive. John has barely a word to say to any of them, letting the authorities go about their job as they try to extinguish the flames, attempting to contain it to the nursery. People have come out of their homes to watch, and the police have to keep escorting them away.

John ignores them all. All he sees in his head is the look on his wife’s face on that ceiling, the pain in her eyes before they were enveloped in flames. He eventually has to sit, seating himself and Dean on the hood of his 1967 Chevy Impala. Dean holds Sam in his arms, and John holds Rosemary.

Eventually, the flames will cease in the house, but John already knows what he last lost to the fire. He does not know it yet, but he has work to do.

They all do.


	2. 1995

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter for this installment will read in snapshots taken from the 10 years before the beginning of Season 1. I have left some areas open for now, and as the show does in later episodes, I will make more and more callbacks to this time throughout the series. I hope to finish this piece by the time of the final episode this upcoming April, so that once the show has finished, we can start season 1 together again, episode by episode. 
> 
> For now, we pick up with 1995: 10 years before John disappears.

**1995**

It's not easy being the middle child. What is easy is being the only daughter.

Rosemary Winchester realizes it when she's eleven, on a quiet night in North Carolina. She wakes to the rumble of the engine of that ‘67 Chevy Impala outside their motel door, a noise that will follow her for the rest of her life, no matter how far away it is. She knows who it is because both her brothers are in the room with her. 

Dean’s still snoring away in the bed closest to the door, hand under the pillow where his knife is. Mary’s fully aware of Sam’s weight by her side, and just by his breathing, she can tell he’s already awake with her.

He knows she knows, too. Because she always does.

She prepares herself for the noise that is their father and his grand entrance. His boots are solid on the concrete outside, heavy on the carpet when he comes inside. John doesn’t waste time, the way he leaves the door open, the headlights of the car glaring into the room. Another hunt finished, another drive to the next.

“Dean!” He speaks like a dog barks, firm and loud enough to fill the room. Mary’s got her eyes closed, but she hears Dean’s bed squeak as he perks up on command. “Got wind of a case up in Idaho. You’re driving.”

“Yessir.” Dean’s voice is laced with sleep, but he’s quick to wake up, the bed creaking underneath him as he moves to get up, throw his pants on before he grabs his bag from under the bed. All parts of the routine.

It's the same every time. 

Sam’s next, same as always. Mary’s fully awake now, fully aware of how John shakes Sam until he’s blinking up at him. “Get up, boy,” John grumbles. “You can sleep in the car. Come on, up.”

Sam doesn’t say a word, much to John’s dismay. At least he follows orders, sitting up. Mary hears him yawn, senses the way he stretches his body before he’s up and out of bed, too. She’s next.

" _ Mary. _ ”

She doesn't remember when he started calling her that. It’s not her name, not really, and they all know it, but no one’s ever said anything. It was their mother’s name, and from what Mary knows about it, it was the name John wanted to name her in the first place. It was her mother who wanted to name her Rose; they just compromised. 

They don’t talk about her anymore. And if they do, it’s never in front of John. 

What strikes her is the way he says it. John Winchester is good at giving orders, even better at barking them at them, but rarely with her. Almost never, with her. So when he says her name so gently, then places his hand on her shoulder and barely shakes her, she’s hit with the realization that she’s the one who has it easiest. 

And life as a Winchester is never, ever easy. 

“Come on, Mary. Time to wake up and hit the road.” 

Mary nods her head before she manages to open her eyes. Sam and Dean are both up already, getting ready to head out before she’s even out of bed. They pack their bags in silence, too tired to speak, but there's an unspoken language between them as they gather their things. Sam hands Dean a t-shirt he'd forgotten under the bed, and Mary grabs the book she got Sam for their last birthday off the nightstand to hand to him. For a second, Mary sees the hint of a fond smile on his lips, but nothing like that lasts when John is standing in the doorway.

“Got everything?”

They all look up on cue, nod their heads while the sounds of zippers closing bags fill the motel room. 

"Good. Let's get goin'."

Mary barely offers the room a second glance, knowing better than to reminisce on a place she knows she’ll never see again. She followers her brothers and lets John close the door behind them. He locks the door behind them and heads towards the office to drop off the key. They load the car in silence. There's nothing to say. There never really is.

Sam and Mary climb into the back seat, their bags at their feet. The leather is warm, almost comforting as they settle in beside each other, Mary blinking tiredly. She leans against her twin without a word, her eyes slipping closed before she hears John's boots returning to the car. The trunk closes, shaking them before the front doors creak open. Dean settles in the driver’s seat, John seats himself next to him. The engine’s still rumbling, trying to lull Mary to sleep by the time all the doors slam closed.

John doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t even hint at what town they’re headed for in Idaho. 

Mary doesn't care, either. She's got her head on her twin's shoulder, and Sam's already laying his on top of hers by the time the car starts rolling. It's routine, unspoken bliss, the only familiarity they have. She finds comfort with her twin, with her brothers by her side and with their dad telling them what to do. Same as always.

She falls asleep with Sam before they even reach city limits. There's no seeing the fond glint in John's eyes when he glances in the rearview mirror at them. They won't see the look Dean gives them when he checks on them, will never see that smile he only saves for them when they're not looking.

It's a dreamless sleep, but even that is more than any of them could ever ask for.

* * *

Being twelve is, decidedly, worse than being eleven. Or ten. Or anything before the awful cusp of almost-a-teenager.

Mary could shoot a gun at eight. Could beat Sam in a sparring match at nine, and at ten, she’d already mastered how to throw knives and hit her target every time. Hell, at eleven, she could patch and stitch her father up with precision after every messy hunt. But twelve?

Things really start changing at thirteen. And there are only so many things hand-me-downs are capable of doing.

The day she gets her period, for example, is terrifying.

If anything, she's just happy it happened on the weekend. Logically, she knew it was coming, but seeing the red stain of blood in her underwear makes her panicky, terrified and unprepared behind that bathroom door. One door away from her brothers that have no idea what's going on, perhaps no idea how to help.

Maybe it would be better if this did actually happen at school, she thinks.

Sam knocks first. Mary doesn't know how long she's been sitting on the toilet, but Sam's urgent on the other side of the door. 

"Other people have to use the bathroom, too!" Sam sounds close yet incredibly far away to her ears, and she just stares at the door. What is she supposed to say?

She licks her lips and looks down at that angry red stain again. She knows how to get blood out of clothes, and the sink is right next to her, but she can't move. She's just bleeding. And her stomach hurts. Of course.

This isn't something she can just wrap up with a bandage like her father's wounds after a hunt. Though technically it’s a more natural occurrence, but nothing diminishes the twist in her gut, the nervous feelings that come with the fact that she  _ has to tell them _ .

Sam doesn't knock again, but instead asks gently through the door, “Everything okay in there?"

He has to know. They always have a way of knowing what's going on with each other, even when they have absolutely no idea what's going on. She doesn't know if it's a twin thing or just from living in such close proximity with each other all their lives. Either way, she does know he deserves an answer.

Before she has any idea what to say, Dean's suddenly right there at the door with him. His knock is more rapid, urgent like their father's. "Mary? What's going on?"

This is now how she thought this would happen. She has to take a deep breath, lets them hear her sigh heavily. "Jesus, you two. Look, do you promise not to freak out?"

She can almost hear the way her brothers shift outside the bathroom door, preparing themselves for the worst. Dean clears his throat first. “Yeah, fine. What is it?"

It's almost laughable, but she's definitely not about to laugh. That would probably make the cramps hurt worse. So Mary runs her hands through her blonde hair, closes her eyes as she blurts out, "Igotmyperiod."

"What?" Both of them ask on the other side of the door, and Mary almost groans with frustration.

"My  _ period! _ "

Silence follows those two words. She puts her head in her hands, listens to Sam and Dean move around behind the door. Dean's voice is calm when he finally answers, if not a bit shaky. "So, uh... Y-You need--"

"Pads." She really can't believe this is happening. Seriously.

"Okay." There silence between them again, and Mary can hear more movement outside of the bathroom. The sound of money in her brother's hands, counting.

"How many?"

She'd roll her eyes if she wasn't aware of how oblivious the boys were to this kind of thing. "I don’t know, a pack? One box?"

"Okay. Okay." There's some talk between Sam and Dean, but it doesn't last long before Dean's back to say, "I'm gonna head to the store. Just... stay calm. Sam's gonna stay, I'll be right back."

Mary rolls her eyes. "I  _ am  _ calm," she grumbles, decidedly kicking off her underwear so she can wash them in the sink with cold water. 

"Okay.” There’s a pause, and then, “Need anything else?"

It's sweet, but she feels like he's stalling, and she needs those damn pads. "Nothing, Dean, just hurry. Please?"

She doesn't hear it, but she knows he's giving her a nod before he heads out. He tells Sam to keep the door locked, makes sure he doesn't disturb the salt line at the door when he leaves. 

Sam knows better than to bother her, and for that, she's grateful. She scrubs the blood out of the fabric in the sink without moving off of the toilet. Then she hangs them over the side of the sink, just waiting. After a while, she hears the door open and close with the sure sound of Dean himself, and she sighs with relief.

"I'm gonna open the door and just toss 'em inside, okay?" Dean is speaking before he's even directly outside the bathroom door, and Mary is quick to think before he has his hand on the doorknob.

"Can you get my bag, too?" She asks quickly, aware that she needs another pair of underwear yet absolutely not about to ask them to go through her stuff for them.

"Got it." Sam's voice is there again, and then she hears the jiggle of the doorknob again. "Ready?"

"I've been ready. Throw them in." Mary pulls her knees together and stares at the door, hands at the ready to catch whatever comes at her first. The door opens and she sees a plastic bag first, its handles tied in a knot that Dean has his finger hooked on before he tosses it in her general direction. Mary catches it easily and sets it on the ground before she has to catch her clothes bag. 

The door closes, and Mary breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you," she says, her voice just loud enough for them to hear out there. She unzips her bag and gets a fresh pair of underwear out, slips them onto her ankles before grabbing the plastic bag. Urgently, she unties the knot and opens it up.

Dean got her pads. But he also got her a new pack of underwear. And a bra.

Mary doesn't know why, but tears sting her eyes just looking at the contents of the bag. It's not that she's growing up; that was always going to happen. But Dean did as she asked and got her what she needed and more. It makes her chest clench, appreciation and what she can only recognize as love blooming inside her so big that it almost hurts.

She figures out the thing with the pad fairly quickly, then stashes the package into her bag for safekeeping along with her new underwear. Then she stands and urgently rips the bralette from its cheap plastic hanger, gets her shirt off to put it on. 

It fits perfectly. She smiles at her reflection and admires the look of it, plain and simple yet impossibly meaningful to her in so many ways. She puts her shirt back on and bins the underwear she washed earlier, deciding she doesn't need the old pair, anyway.

So this is really growing up.

When she opens the bathroom door, there's no one there waiting. She can hear them, though, moving around in the living area. She carries her bag to the bed she shares with Sam, drops it to the ground on her side before she turns towards her brothers.

Sam dashes by her from the patchy couch towards the bathroom, finally having his turn. Mary then turns towards Dean who's standing in the kitchenette, shaking some pills out of a bottle and into his palm. He looks up at her and looks her over like he's making sure she's not mortally wounded, and the relief shows in his green eyes.

He gets a water bottle out of the fridge, one of the only things they manage to get almost every time they have one to stash them in. Dean closes the door and approaches her, holding out both hands. 

"Here. Take these." Dean's voice is soft, and he doesn't quite meet her eyes when she looks up to him. But she knows he's just taking care of her, doing the only thing he knows how to do as their big brother. 

Watching out for Sam and Mary.

"Thanks, Dee." She takes them carefully from his hands, and he makes sure she takes them before he moves anywhere else. The pills go down easily, and she manages to down almost half of the water bottle in one go.

Dean gives that relaxed half-smile as he turns away. "Thirsty much?" He teases and makes his way back to the kitchenette, to the fridge once more. "Got something else for us, too."

"What's that?"

The freezer door opens, and Dean reaches in for something that Mary can't see yet. Sam comes out of the bathroom and hops onto the bed, watching with her as their big brother retrieves something out of the freezer.

Sam's mouth falls open, and Mary's eyes go wide. "No way,” they say together, in awe of what Dean has in his hands.

"Yes way." Dean smiles and sets the tub of ice cream on the counter. The container is green, which means he got Mary's favorite: mint chocolate chip. He gets into a plastic bag sitting by the sink and pulls out three plastic spoons. "Figured we could use a treat."

But Mary knows it's not just a treat. It's a gift, a prize, a sweet gesture from Dean that only they get to see happen when John isn't home and school isn't in session. It's impossibly kind, terribly adorable for their sixteen-year-old brother to just stand there holding their spoons with hope on his young yet tired features.

The twins don't need to be told twice. They end up on the couch in front of their tiny tv with fuzzy channels and sketchy local commercials. But the ice cream is good, their Sunday is quiet, and Mary doesn't feel her cramps anymore by the time they've finished half the tub.

Sam's the first one out, passed out against Dean's right shoulder. Mary's leaning on his left, eyes drooping as they make it through the credits of another Indiana Jones movie.

"Thank you." It's long overdue, but Mary means it when she says it. Just for Dean to hear.

He knows she's covering a lot of ground with it, thanking him for the day, essentially. Dean doesn't know how to handle that kind of praise, but he accepts it from his little sister. "Any time, Mary.”

Dean says her name differently, too. Not like John does, but it’s real close. Because he remembers their mother, too, for just a handful of years before that yellow-eyed monster came into their home and took her away. But he still says it like it's important, with something special and unspoken behind it. Something she doesn’t quite understand. Not yet, anyway.

She sighs, lets her eyes fall closed. "Love you, Dean.”

Dean doesn't answer; he doesn't have to. He just wraps his arms around her and Sam, the three of them sinking into the couch. "Get some rest, kiddo."

It's no "I love you, too," but it's close enough. Because if anyone could know Dean like she does, they'd know that he says it with every act of kindness he offers. And it's exclusive for the three of them, together, just like this.

Mary knows she’ll never forget that day. Dean knows it, too.

* * *

It occurs to Mary not long after that day that she literally cannot imagine life without her brothers. 

Life without John is . . . well, easier. Summers fly by with how fast they move from one town to the next, the oldest Winchester always eager to stay on the move while school is out of session. Mary doesn’t mind the extra hours with their father. But she’s starting to notice how tense his presence makes Dean, how anxious he makes Sam. So when he's gone, she just appreciates the time alone with her brothers. 

This year is only really different because Dean's sixteen now. If John ever treated Dean like he should be a grownup before, he’s really treating him like a man, now. That means taking him with him on more and more hunts, cracking down on making sure he knows everything about monsters and the things that go bump in the night more than ever before. 

It’s not terrible, being alone with her twin. John still leaves them with enough money for the few days they're gone, always gives a call at least every other day to let them know what's going on, what the plan is and when they should be prepared to book it again when they’re back in town. 

So, Sam is her constant. But Dean is  _ their _ constant. 

Well, was.

Life without Dean is different.. She remembers the first time John took Dean on a hunt, and the feeling that he might not come back ate at her all night. Neither twin could even imagine sleep until their big brother came back to them. 

Some things never change.

It goes without saying that normal kids don't go through this kind of stuff. Mary knows that just as well as Sam does. Normal kids don't pick up their lives and move around more times than they can count, and if they do, it's not because they're hunting the things that go bump in the night. Normal kids don't have lines of salt at every window and exit. 

No, normal kids don't have to worry at all the way that they do. Because no one’s ever had the upbringing that the Winchesters have had.

But normal kids also don't have someone like Dean.

Dean raised them. There’s really no denying it. When John's gone, Dean's their everything. He's done everything for them since the night they lost their mother to that fire. Dean changed their diapers, made sure they ate, checked to see their homework was done, and above all, he made sure they were safe. Always.

So it’s only natural that once Dean starts going on hunts, Sam and Mary have no idea what to do. At least it’s peaceful between them, an unspoken understanding in a language shared between looks, body language, and everything in between that’s just  _ them _ . 

They're not supposed to leave the motel unless it's an emergency, so they make it their haven. Salt lines stay in place, checked every morning and night. They have their own knives, gifts for their last birthday from their father. There's a handgun in the drawer of the nightstand and a shotgun under the bed next to a bottle of holy water. The usual.

Normal kids really wouldn't understand, but they don't have to. Sam and Mary do.

They order Chinese food one night, pizza the next. They have a TV in their motel room, and some of the channels actually come through well enough to catch a few movies and episodes of the Simpsons. The air conditioner rattles away in the window over by the door, a calming noise when there’s nothing else to fill the silence.

Mary doesn't know when she fell asleep, but she wakes to the feeling of fingers in her hair. She hums because she knows it’s her twin, seeks the sensation with her head before she opens her green eyes to him. She's got her head in Sam's lap, and he's just playing with her hair with a dazed look like he doesn't even know she's awake.

It makes her smile, her lips curving into one of those lazy grins she imagines normal kids save for lazy Sunday mornings.

"What?" His voice cracks because he hasn’t used it for hours, but he keeps running his fingers through her hair. It's incredibly comforting, the affection she only gets when John isn’t there. It makes Mary want to close her eyes and let him keep going until she falls asleep again, to preserve the moment for just a few minutes longer. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she whispers, "This is nice."

Sam doesn't know what to say to that. John's gone, Dean's with him, and even if they're coming back tomorrow, there are a million things that could go wrong between now and then. There's nothing nice about being left alone, but there's something nice about being with Mary. Just them, the twins, the ones who are supposed to understand each other the most out of all of them.

"Don't mention it." Sam's twirling her golden strands into ringlets, twining her hair into tight ringlets just to watch it flow back into it original form, probably tangling it, but she could care less about that at a time like this. She doesn't plan on moving for hours, certain that she could stay like this for hours. And she knows Sam won’t ask her to.

They’ve done this hundreds of times, like a habit they’re not ready to let go of. They’re always repeating their actions, holding onto whatever sense of normal they can in the life they live. Sam plays with her hair, and Mary takes the moment to lose herself to the sensation, the absence of thought needed just to enjoy this. 

Mary’s not really sure if normal kids ever have things like this, if it would mean as much to them. If they don’t, maybe Mary’s fine with being normal. Besides, at this point, normalcy would be a shock to their system. 

She sits up only when the world is dark outside, allowing Sam to stand and switch on the lamp over by their bed. It fills the room with the kind of light that makes the walls look even more yellow than the cheap paint already is. 

Mary sighs and relaxes into the couch, lets her eyes slip closed for what she thinks is just a moment, but when she opens them again, she’s the one with her twin sleeping with his head in her lap.

A huff of breath leaves her like a laugh. Mary stares for only a moment, takes in the look of peace on her twin's face, the loss of worry from his young features. She wishes she could take a picture, just to save for herself and look at later. Her twin, her other half, just lost to sleep without a worry on his mind.

It's a tragedy that she has to wake him to move to the bed. The TV is still on, but it’s nothing but static by now. Mary doesn’t pay any attention to it as she brings her hand to Sam’s hair, combing through them as he did for her just earlier that evening.

Sam's adorable when he first wakes up, almost more so than Dean. He scrunches up his nose, furrows his eyebrows and goes to rub his eyes before he can really open them. He stretches as much as the couch will allow him, and Mary just sits there, patient as ever with her fingers in her brother’s hair.

"Think it's time for bed,” she murmurs, and he nods in agreement. He sits up and stretches, his faded hand-me-down shirt riding up as he reaches for the ceiling. Mary stands and turns off the TV before she goes towards the bed, Sam following close behind. He pulls off his shirt, stretching one more time before he gets into bed. Mary doesn’t hesitate to climb in after him.

The lamp stays on, a guiding light for Dean to come and find them again.

This is their routine. Mary lays in bed, tired from a day of nothing but reruns and greasy delivery food, exhausted from the push and pull of worries and what-ifs.

She does not fall asleep. She knows Sam's awake, too, but she doesn't say anything. 

Neither of them has to.

Sometimes he moves first, sometimes she does. She takes the initiative that night, scooting closer to him. Sam has his back to her, but when she slides closer, he turns to face her. She doesn't have to say anything because he already knows. Sam lifts the sheet to accommodate her new position, the blanket forgotten on the floor at the end of the bed. It’s a silent and understood invitation.

They can't sleep without Dean nearby. So they make due.

Mary doesn't have to ask before Sam gets his arm around her, pulls her closer until their foreheads are nearly touching, breath mingling between them. 

Some of the tension leaves Mary's body as she relaxes against her twin. She doesn't know how much longer they'll be able to keep this up, if there will ever be a time where they can no longer find comfort with each other like this. For now, she can’t let herself dwell on it. They have this now, they have each other, and that's all Mary can bring herself to ask for at times like this.

They fall asleep like that, legs tangled and breathing synced together in unison. They'll wake together in the morning when John and Dean show up, but for now, it's just the two of them in one with nothing but each other to hold onto. Because when Dean is gone, Mary has Sam, and Sam always has Mary. 

She can’t imagine and would not dare dream of life without either of her brothers.

The lamp stays on, but the twins are out — the only real peace they'll come to find in their kind of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying this so far! I have 25k typed already, and I have the next chapter finished. All I have to do is run it by my lovely beta once before I can publish. I hope to publish it later tonight after the episode, so stay tuned!
> 
> As always, any and all comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! <3


	3. 1996

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins are teenagers, now, and Dean is seventeen. Growing up in the hunter's life was never supposed to be easy.
> 
> And it seems things just keep getting harder and harder.

**1996**

The thing is, Mary’s perfectly fine with the knowledge that she’s growing up. It’s just that in doing so, she has to watch Sam grow up, too. Him and Dean.

Dean turns seventeen behind the wheel of the Impala, driving from one side of the country to the other for a hunt —t he only gift John is prepared to give. Dean doesn’t mention it, doesn’t even bother reminding him and won’t let the twins do it, either. Sam and Mary are wordless in the backseat; the looks they share are the only communication they need. 

As always, they’re on the same page about it.

They’d wished Dean a happy birthday that morning, as soon as they were up. When they make it to a gas station later that day, they use their collected change to get Dean a cupcake with a single candle stuck in the middle. They have to use Dean’s lighter to light it, but his smile is still brighter than the flame.

By the time John comes back from the bathroom, the cupcake is gone and the candle is stashed away in Mary’s bag, one of those memories to treasure for later.

It’s bittersweet, seeing their big brother really grow into a man. It leaves Mary with a scared feeling, the knowledge that he could easily leave them someday for something else, someone else. Sam doesn’t think so, and that’s all he has to say about it. She knows he doesn’t like thinking about it, so she drops it before anyone else has a chance to hear them.

Mary swallows it down, finds it best to just cherish every second they have with their brother because even though he’s almost an adult, they still  _ need _ him. Dean just keeps getting better at everything, from hunting to flirting to finding new ways to tease the twins when John’s not looking.

Something about it made her mad, too, but she can’t place why. She knows it’s selfish, the gnawing need to have Dean so close, to keep him away from garbage friends and trashy girls that will never know who he really is, how important and giving he can be when it’s just them. But he’s seventeen, now; he’s allowed to have girlfriends, flings, and idiot friends that throw stupid parties.

It just hurts a little. That’s all.

Sam doesn’t say anything about it, but Mary knows he must feel the same. She’s seen how his expression changes when Dean talks about going out, how his mood shifts when Dean mentions having an arrangement, from a hangout to a date. Sure, they can take care of themselves, but there was still Dean. 

There had  _ always  _ been Dean.

Mary doesn’t concern herself with making friends because she doesn’t need them. Sam is her friend. There’s no one in the world like him, nothing like their connection. There are things that only they have seen, things only they know. Things Mary knows that no one else would understand even if they were allowed to talk about the family business. 

They find that stability with each other no matter how many schools they go to, no matter how many states and towns they go through. They always have each other.

The good thing is that Dean doesn’t go out as often when they spend less time in one place. John hunts while they go to school, then comes back when he sees fit to pack up and take them somewhere else. Always chasing something.

Mary doesn’t know what she’s chasing. The way they live, she only has time to chase after their father. That’s all they ever do. Follow Dad, do what Dad says, take care of each other—so on and so forth. Dean is the only one who can remember a time before this, but it’s all the twins have ever known. It’s no wonder why the only milestones they have to keep up with the passing of time is school and their birthdays.

The first day of May marks the near end of the school year as it drags towards its close, only a few weeks between schoolwork and the freedom of summer. Mary doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s really enjoyed their time in Arizona so far. It’s hot and sunny, enough to leave Sam’s cheeks red and bring Dean’s freckles out before the heat really hits. 

But May is more special than just the promise of summertime and open roads to nowhere.

Mary counts the second day of May as the most special day of the year. Dean never forgets it, and it’s his undivided attention that really makes it her favorite.

Even though it’s a Thursday, Dean lets them stay home to celebrate. “Not every damn day you get to become a teenager!” He’s all smiles and excitement, energetic as he unloads the grocery bags on the small kitchen table. Dean’s no good at baking — something they learned the year before when he tried to make them a cake in the cheap oven in New Jersey. This year, Dean just bought them a cake from the store, small and perfect for just the three of them.

“Got you guys something else, too,” Dean says once they’ve all had their pieces. He leans back in his chair and just looks at them, the smile on his lips as sweet as the icing.

“No presents.” Sam looks to Mary as if to get her to agree, and she does, but now she’s curious. Dean always gets them something, no matter how little. She thought it was the cake, but now she’s dying to know what he has up his sleeve this time.

Dean frowns at that, gives his best impression of Sam’s puppy-eyes. Sam huffs, “Well, we didn’t get you one for yours this year.” And neither of them had enough money to get the other anything for their birthday.

Mary nods at Sam’s words, looks at Dean with a conflicted gaze. “We got you a cupcake, and you got us the cake. We’re even.” 

Dean scoffs like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Come on, it’s  _ me _ . And you guys are thirteen, now.  _ Teenagers _ . You’re growing up on me.” He reaches out to ruffle their hair on their heads. “Seriously, it’s a special day!”

It warms Mary’s heart, how enthusiastic and sure he sounds when he talks about it like that, about them. She combs her hair back into place with her fingers before she leans forward, elbows propped on the table. “Well, what is it?”

“What’s what?”

“What did you get us?” Mary’s nearly on her knees in her chair, excitement bubbling through her as she watches Dean. He just smiles, looks between them both for a few beats before he says, “All right. Close your eyes.”

Without question, Mary does as he asks. She feels Sam’s fingers touch her arm on the table, a subtle move that means he’s closed his eyes, too, but he still needs to maintain that she’s still there with him. Force of habit.

“Keep ‘em like that.” There’s the sound of Dean’s boots on the floor, moving around the motel room before he comes back. Mary hears the distinct sound of another plastic bag, followed by the sound of two objects being set before them on the table. “Alright, open up.”

Mary’s faster than Sam, opens her eyes and looks directly at the table. Sam has a drawing pad and a collection of charcoal pencils. It’s not what she has, but when she looks at what’s sitting in front of her on the table, she can’t help but smile. It’s so small, so simple that it’s  _ perfect _ .

“Thought you might like these. Help you to document all the good times, you know.” It’s a side comment, but Mary knows exactly what he means when she picks the camera up from the table.

It’s one of the cheap disposable cameras she’s seen on gas station shelves and in various stores across the country. It’s mostly plastic and has a simple lens and a capture button. It’s not hard to figure out, as she quickly finds that there’s already a roll of film inside, unused and ready to be filled with memories. 

“I already put batteries in them, too, so you should be ready to go.”

Mary looks up and catches Dean’s eyes. He looks unsure of what they must think. Mary has to let the unusually familiar heart-wrenching feeling pass before she manages smiles at him, wide and genuine. “They’re perfect, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean smiles and lets out a laugh like he’d been holding his breath for the last minute. He looks between them and lands his eyes on Sam. “I was hoping you’d like ‘em.”

It takes a moment, but Sam finally smiles and sets the booklet and pencils down. “They’re great, Dean. Thanks.” It’s as reassuring as he can manage, but Mary knows he’s happy that Dean went out of the way to get these gifts for them.

Mary’s enthusiastic enough for the both of them. She starts figuring out the camera immediately, snapping a picture of Dean before he even realizes what she’s doing.

“Hey, if you get to take a picture of me, I get to take a picture of you.” Dean’s quick with his hands as he snatches the camera from her hands. Mary tries to grab for it, but Dean’s already pushed his chair back so he could take the picture.”Smile!”

Mary has to fight the smile on her face, but she stills herself. Sam tries to hide his own smile, looking at Mary because he knows she’s going to get the camera back one way or another. Dean takes the picture just like that, a moment frozen in time: the twins’ first day as teenagers.

It’s only one day, one night for the two of them to have Dean entirely to themselves — a rarity these days. It’s everything they wanted and more, just because it’s him, and he always knows how to make them feel special. For a brief moment, it’s like nothing ever really has to change.

If only change was not inevitable. 

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” Mary looks around the motel parking lot like they’re going to be busted any second, but she knows John’s sound asleep in the motel and definitely not waking up any time soon after the hunt he went through earlier that day. 

It’s damp outside, wet from the day’s rain and strangely cool for the summer weather. Not Mary’s favorite kind of weather, but she doesn’t complain as she watches her brothers load the trunk with the goods. She’s just worried, is all.

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of backing out  _ now _ ,” Sam throws back at her before they get the trunk closed. They’re gentle with it so they don’t accidentally alert John, but Mary still looks back to their room just to make sure she doesn’t see a light come on. “Seriously, Mary. We’ve been planning this for weeks, now. Aren’t you excited?”

Mary shifts her weight from one foot to another, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. “I just don’t want to get caught.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that!” Dean crosses the few feet between them and throws his arm around Mary, pulling her in for a side hug. “Look, we just gotta hit the road and find ourselves a field, then we can fire it up and come right back. He’ll never know we left, right, Sam?”

“Right!”

Mary knows she can trust them, but she still feels dirty, sneaking out in the middle of the night with her brothers when their dad could wake up and skin them all before they even get the keys in the ignition. So she just swallows hard and nods, tries to convince herself that the nerves she feels are more excitement than fear of being caught. 

“Tell you what,” Dean offers, digging in his pocket before dangling the keys in front of Mary’s face, “I’ll let you start her up.”

“Right here?” Mary crosses her arms and looks towards their motel room again, hesitating like she’s just waiting for John to burst the door open and start hollering for them to get their asses inside. “No way. Soon as he hears the engine, he’ll wake up.”

Dean scoffs, puts his hands over his heart like he’s been hurt. “What do you think I am, some kind of amateur?” He smiles at her, all fun and games as he goes to open the driver’s door. “Get in, I’ll show you.”

Mary looks to Sam for his input, but he just shrugs. She knows he’s not going to give up easily, and she knows why. This was his idea, after all. When she looks back to Dean, he’s got one hand in his pocket and the other is dangling the keys with his elbow propped on the door, waiting with a cocky smile on his lips.

And fuck, if that doesn’t convince her.

She uncrosses her arms as she walks up to Dean, and when she goes to grab the keys, Dean raises them up so she can’t get them. He shakes them until they jangle together, teasing her with the sound she usually likes when it means they’re going for a ride. The second she opens her mouth to start in on him, Dean warns her, “I’m trusting you behind the wheel, here. No driving off with my girl.”

It’s Mary’s turn to scoff. She jumps and manages to snatch the keys out of Dean’s hand, moving past him to get in the driver’s seat. Dean closes the door softly behind her, just hard enough to do the job. Mary’s quick to reach for the window crank, rolling it down. 

“Now, put the key in the ignition but don’t crank it. I’m gonna go around to the back, and when I tell you to, I want you to take it outta’ park and release the brake. Sam and I will push, you use the wheel to steer us to the edge of the parking lot. Got it?”

Mary nods and finds the key to put it in. Dean moves down the side of the car, waves Sam over so they can get in position to push. When she looks in the mirror and sees his thumbs-up, she takes it out of park. It’s only a moment before it starts moving, Sam and Dean pushing before Mary starts turning the wheel.

The distance isn’t too far, but Mary thinks it’s far enough to call it safe to start the engine. She makes sure to break when they get to the edge of the parking lot, and that’s when Dean tells her to start it.

It takes only a second, but it’s the first time she’s ever been allowed to start the Impala, the car that she’s spent more of her life in than out of. It gives her goosebumps in the best kind of way. It’s a good feeling, but it’s gone as soon as she has it.

“Scoot over!” Dean’s at the door, opening it so he can move into the driver’s seat. Mary scoots to the middle while Sam gets in on her other side, putting her directly between her brothers. Dean fits behind the wheel like he’s made for it, comfortable and certain. 

He looks like he belongs there.

“Thanks for not driving off with my girl.”

Mary rolls her eyes. “Please,” she says, “I  _ am  _ your girl.”

“Well, who else would I be talking about?” Dean knocks his shoulder against hers, and Mary’s glad for the dark of night when she feels her face heat up. She looks at Sam like she’s trying to share a secret with her smile, but the look on his face says something she can’t read. He doesn’t smile back.

Mary clears her throat because her mouth is suddenly too dry. They’re moving down the road now, and the only sound filling their silence is the rumble of the engine. Usually, the siblings' silences are pleasant and enjoyable, but this one is tense. She doesn’t ask before she reaches for the radio, turns it on and starts looking for a radio station worth listening to.

Maybe it’s the late of the night, or maybe it’s the thrill of sneaking out, maybe he could feel the unspoken tension as well, but Dean doesn’t complain. She settles on a station in his favor, though, when she hears the familiar sound of classic rock. It doesn’t matter than she can’t place the song because Dean seems to like it. He reaches over her to turn up the volume, the sound of it soft and low.

“Pink Floyd?” Sam asks, scrunching up his nose. “There’s a reason Dad doesn’t have any of their tapes.”

“Pretty sure Dad hasn’t bought a new tape since before either of you could walk.”

Mary sits back and shrugs. “I like it.”

“‘Course you would,” Dean answers before he reaches for the radio and cranks the volume up some more. “So Sam can shut his cake hole.”

Mary turns to see her twin roll his eyes, but the way he smiles afterward lets her know that he’s as content with it as she is. The tension becoming a distant memory. It’s a comfort, just being out with her brothers, seated comfortably between them with nothing but the road in front of them.

They ride in silence beyond the sound of the radio filling the car. Both of the front windows are open, letting the wind carry through the cabin. Mary doesn’t bother putting her hair up, she feels too free.

It takes all of twenty minutes for Dean to find a place to pull over. The highway is empty, trees lining one side while the other is nothing but open field without a fence to separate asphalt from the grass. The field itself shines with the dew of the last rain. Mary thinks it’s perfect.

Sam's first out of the car, leaving the door open for Mary before he runs to the trunk. Dean takes the keys out and follows after him, unlocks it before Mary brings herself to join them. Sam’s practically bouncing on his feet when it opens, and he reaches inside for the black crate of fireworks they put together for the occasion. Mary closes the trunk before putting her hands in her pockets.

“Come on, let’s go!”

The smile that comes to Mary’s face is automatic, mirroring her twin’s enthusiasm. When she looks to Dean, she sees a similar lift on his lips. Then he catches her looking, and he shows his teeth. Sam’s already into the field, so Dean nods towards him, like they need an excuse to move from their spot.

Dean licks his lips, and Mary catches the movement with her eyes before Dean heads towards the field. He has to look back at her and beckon her with his hand because, for some reason, she can’t find it in herself to move. 

“Come  _ on _ , you guys!” Sam’s standing in the field, crate still held in his hands like it’s the key to happiness. 

Dean waits for Mary at the edge of the road, which reminds her to move. Once by his side, they walk together towards Sam. He sets the crate down, grabbing the three roman candles from the collection. Sam looks up when Mary and Dean approach, eyes on Dean. “Got your lighter?”

Dean’s quick to retrieve the lighter from his jacket pocket, flicking it open with ease. Sam smiles again, like he can’t believe this is really happening. Mary thinks she might feel the same.

Sam moves to stand by Dean, passing the other two roman candles to them. “Fire ‘em up!”

The way Dean flicks open the lighter is fluid, artwork with one hand. Mary accepts the candle from her brother, watching as Dean lights the flame. He brings the lighter to Sam’s before quickly lighting Mary’s. The two of them take aim at the sky over the open field in front of them while Dean lights his own.

The fuzes of the candles ignite with sparks, bright in the night. Mary breathes out a sigh at the sight of them, watching the fuze on hers grow shorter and shorter. The first thing she hears is Sam’s go off with the first burst, a comet that touches the sky before bursting among the stars. Mary’s is next, then Dean’s, and soon they’re all marking the sky with color. 

It’s over in a matter of a minute, but Mary can already feel the fire in her veins. Sam’s eyes are bright when he looks to Dean, like the light of the fireworks is embedded in the hazel there. “Dad would never let us do anything like this,” he says, and his smile never fails. “Thanks, Dean. This is great.”

Dean looks like he doesn’t know what to say, but Sam doesn’t need him to say anything. Mary watches as her twin suddenly puts his arms around Dean in a tight hug. It takes a moment for Dean to wrap his arms around Sam in return, but Mary doesn’t miss the sadness in the smile on his face because Sam’s right. 

They couldn’t do this, would never have this kind of freedom if it weren’t for Dean.

When Sam pulls back, he looks up at Dean with that puppy dog look in his eyes, asking permission. Dean’s doesn’t even say a word as he hands him his lighter, nodding for him to get the rest of the fireworks going. Sam lights up with excitement, taking the lighter and dashing towards the crate.

Mary stays by Dean’s side while they watch Sam light every fuze he can in quick succession. Once they really start sparking, he dashes back towards them, yelling, “Fire in the hole!”

One by one, the fireworks begin to erupt from the crate, spilling colors into the sky. The three of them watch as they ignite and take off, bursting among the stars, lighting up the night around them. Mary smiles at the beauty of it, the thrill of what they’re doing and how no one else gets to have this moment like they do.

Mary can’t stop watching, fascinated with the colors, the way they burn bright before they disappear in trails that mark the sky like ghosts of smoke. She doesn’t pay any attention to Dean when he looks at her, misses the way he smiles at her before he turns to look at Sam. He does not pay any attention to the fireworks in those moments, but there’s still light in his eyes, just the same.

The fireworks are taking off in a frenzy. Mary’s almost hypnotized by the show of it, only pulled out of focus when Sam takes off towards the crate. Her breath catches in her throat, but Sam’s smart enough to stay away from the crate itself, only positioning himself beneath the fireworks that reach the sky.

His smile is almost as bright as the lights above him. Mary can’t stop smiling, and without thinking, she reaches for Dean’s hand by her side, taking it in hers. She doesn’t look at him when he turns his head towards her, but after a moment, she feels him grip her hand back. Mary squeezes it once, an understood “thank you” for what he’s given them.

Sam raises his arms up and begins to spin, dancing beneath the fireworks. It’s a sight to see, how carefree he is in an open field and a box of fireworks. Mary can’t remember the last time she saw Sam smile like that, the last time she heard him laugh like a child with no care in the world.

She lets go of Dean’s hand only to reach into her pocket, her fingers wrapping around the camera Dean got her for their birthday. Wordlessly, she brings it out and positions it to take a picture of Sam. It’s only one picture, catching her twin as he begins to spin and dance beneath the fireworks. When she lowers it, she keeps her eyes fixed on Sam, and then she hears him let out this laugh that she hasn’t heard since they were little.

And it calls her to him.

“Hold this.” Mary holds the camera out to Dean, and he takes it without question. As soon as he has it, Mary takes off towards her twin, and when he sees her, his eyes light up with excitement, like he’s found the one thing he was missing. Mary wants to laugh, and she lets herself, taking Sam’s hands in hers so they can dance and spin together.

The fireworks are beautiful from afar, but they’re absolutely mesmerizing when they’re right above you. Mary sneaks glances upwards as they spin in a circle together, dancing around with nothing but the inconsistent beat of fireworks to guide them. They didn’t care; they had a rhythm all their own, a beat that no one could really understand because they weren’t them. 

Hell, for a moment, Mary almost forgets Dean is watching, and she misses it when he takes the camera and takes his own picture of the two of them. Only when the fireworks begin to slow do the twins break from their dance. Mary stops completely and looks to Dean, and Sam follows her gaze. Dean remains right where they left him, but the look on his face is something fond, something that Mary knows is only reserved for them. 

He’s not even looking at the fireworks.

It makes Mary’s knees feel weak, her chest feel tight. But the warmth of it is soothing, and it makes her smile. Sam nods to Dean, his own way of thanking him, no words needed. 

Mary’s beginning to suspect that it’s a Winchester thing.

One by one, the fireworks finish off their final round, the last bursts echoing through the field until there’s nothing left but ringing in their ears. The crate itself is still smoking, filling the sky with it as the only lasting evidence of the show.

Mary catches her breath from the excitement. Sam steps closer to her and grabs her hand, interlacing their fingers as they always have. It used to be a reminder that they were together, that they never had to part. Now, it feels like a reminder that this was their night, theirs to enjoy.

All thanks to Dean.

She looks to Sam, reads his expression that asks how she liked it, how much she enjoyed their little private fireworks display. He doesn’t even have to ask.

“It was perfect,” she answers before she looks up, watching as the smoke dissipates into the night sky. Mary’s aware of Dean’s eyes on them, and for a moment, she thinks she sees something else. Because even though he’s just standing there with his hands in his pockets, it’s almost like he looks different altogether.

The trance of the realization is disrupted when something erupts from the crate, a weak ball of fire with only enough force behind it to land a few feet away, rolling into the grass, igniting a trail in its path.

“_Shit!_” Dean’s running before Sam and Mary can even think to move. He goes straight for the ball itself, using his boots to stomp it and the rest of the fire out. Once it’s out, he breathes out a heavy sigh, straightening his jacket. “Thanks for the help, guys.”

Sam and Mary just laugh at their older brother. Mary nods to the burnt grass where Dean’s still standing. “Well, thanks for saving us from the fire.” She holds her hand out for the camera, still gripped in Dean’s hand.

Dean gets a look on his face that Mary can’t quite read, but he drops it before he gives the camera over. It’s the first time Sam sees it, and it makes him smile. The evening still feels impossibly light. “Thanks for saving the field, too. Dad would  _ kill  _ us if we set this place on fire.”

Dean shrugs, brings back his care-free attitude he only reserves for pretty girls and his brother and sister. “Who says he’d ever find out?” He squares his shoulders before looking to the crate. There’s only a little smoke coming from the remnants of the fireworks now. “Here,” he says, taking his hand out of his pocket to dangle the keys to them. “Sam, go get the gallon of water out of the trunk.”

“On it.” Sam snatches the keys from Dean’s hand without hesitation before dashing back to the Impala. Mary watches after him, finally turning to Dean once her twin starts unlocking the trunk. She catches Dean checking his boots for damage, and the sight of him earns a laugh out of her, successfully catching his attention.

“What?” Dean plants his foot back to the earth and stands up straight one more, meeting Mary’s gaze. “I didn’t see you stompin’ out any flames.”

“Like you’d have let me.” There’s a truth behind her words that goes deeper than the light tone she says them in. Dean doesn’t argue, shrugging it off in a way that tells her he knows that she’s right.

The sound of the trunk slamming closed echoes into the field, quickly followed by the sound of his steps, first on asphalt and then muted on the grass. He doesn’t wait for further instructions once he stops at the crate, uncapping the gallon so he can begin pouring it over the firework remnants. 

Whatever was left smoking begins to sizzle as it’s put out, leaving nothing but steam that rises to indicate the end of the show entirely. 

Mary likes to think she knows a thing or two about magic, and she can feel as the magic of the night starts to fade away. The electricity of it lingers and leaves a trace somewhere behind her heart, wrapped around her very core. 

The fireworks are finished, the fire burned out and smothered. Mary looks between her brothers, something else settling inside of her, something undeniably  _ different _ . It smolders, like embers of burning coals that she dares not touch. It’s something she can’t name —isn’t sure she wants to—and there’s no way to deny that it’s  _ there _ .

Something real, something  _ growing _ , and she knows she can’t stop it.

* * *

Summer’s end is always bittersweet.

Mary adores the summertime. There’s nothing like the feel of the sun on her skin, the warmth that reaches her bones and bleaches her hair beyond its natural blonde tint.

Life is always different when they’re in school. The whole scheme of it causes stress on all of them. John has to enroll them, offer up documents and sign some papers. It’s often a shot in the dark to try and catch the first day of school, depending on where they are at the time. 

They start school a week behind in Washington, but Mary’s glad for the extra work. It serves as the only excuse both she and Sam have to neglect the hunter’s life, submerge themselves in subjects and books that aren’t about monsters or lore.

School is easy. It’s just living their life around it that can be difficult. And no matter where they go, it’s almost always the same.

“You’re that Winchester girl, aren’t you?”

Mary knows she should be used to it, but she  _ hates _ being the new kid. Even in the hallways, a new face never goes unnoticed. “That’s me,” she answers without enthusiasm as she gets her locker open, placing the books she holds in her arms inside.

“And you’re Sam’s twin sister?”

“Yep.” Schools stopped bothering to put them in the same classrooms after elementary, which makes introductions harder. Their social identities are suddenly separate among their peers, and to Mary, it’s like living life apart from her brother. 

She turns to get a look at the girl asking her questions. Her hair is cut short, auburn ringlets falling only to her shoulders, and Mary couldn’t count the freckles on her skin if she tried. Her clothes look new for the school year, the colors way brighter than anything Mary has in her own wardrobe. As far as Mary can tell, she’s no threat. “You can call me Mary.”

“Mary Winchester. I’m Susan. I met your brother in second period. He mentioned you.”

“Me?” Mary looks around the hallway like someone might be listening to them, but the hallway is too loud for anyone to really hear. 

“Well, you and your other brother. Dean, right?”   
  
“Yeah. Dean.” Even in big schools, word really gets around. Mary wonders what else Sam had to say about them, but she’s not sure she wants to know. Something about the girl in front of her experiencing her brother separate from her is unsettling. It’s irrational, but it still makes something twist inside her.

And the bigger the school, the harder it is to see him.

Mary grabs the slip of paper out of her pocket to see where she has to go for her next class. “Do you know where the algebra class is? It doesn’t have a room listed.”   
  
“Algebra?” The girl’s eyes widen. “Who teaches it?”   


“Uh… Winnington?”   
  
“Wow.” The girl whistles before she smiles again. “They really put you in a high school class. How’d that happen?”

It’s Mary’s turn for her eyes to go wide, and she looks up from her schedule to Susan. “The last school I was in had a pre-algebra class. I finished out the year with a good grade, so I guess that qualifies me.”

“Nice. You might want to hurry so you’re not late. If you go to the office, they’ll tell you where to go. You have to sign out because it’s literally in the high school, so you have to walk across campus and sign in there.”

Mary nods her head and looks down the hall in the direction to the office. “Thanks,” she says, pocketing the schedule once more. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Well, hang on. What time do you have lunch?”

“After algebra.”

“Lunch B, same as me.” Susan offers a smile. “We can sit together, if you like.”

Mary blinks, has to take a moment to consider the offer because she usually sits with Sam. But this is a big school, which means that chances are he has lunch at a completely different time than they do. Lunch A or C. That would be Mary’s luck.

“Sure.” It’s almost a forced answer, but Mary tries not to let it weigh on her. After all, she doesn’t always get approached on her first day with a friendly offer. 

“I’ll find you. Now, go sign out. Don’t want to be late on your first day of high school, do you?”

That makes Mary laugh, small but light. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll see you later?”

The girl nods, and Mary offers a thankful smile before she turns to head towards the office.

Mary doesn’t always like change, but she thinks she likes it this time, just this once.

* * *

Algebra is simple, even with the work Mary has to catch up on. Something about math just makes sense, and it comes easily to her no matter how much she’s missed. The high school is bigger, but the teacher is kind. Mary’s in a classroom with freshmen and a few from her own grade—none of them are Sam. At least there’s little time to talk in class so no one can ask her too many questions. 

The truth is, she spends a majority of the class thinking about the girl she met in the hallway. Susan. Mary’s never wasted much time on trying to make friends; she knows how it works. Friends are temporary in their life. They come and go just as fast as the Winchesters pack up and move.

But that girl had been  _ nice _ . Not that Mary’s never had anyone be nice to her before, but it’s not something that’s really common. People are more curious than anything when it comes to a new kid, and not many are always so forthcoming with smiles and advice. The invitation to sit with her at lunch was the cherry on top, a genuine surprise to Mary.

So, this was making friends.

The class comes to an end, and Mary signs out in the high school office before she heads back to the middle school. She signs in right when the bell rings, signaling that it was time for her lunch period. 

The cafeteria is at the opposite end of the building, so Mary stops by her locker to put her bag away before she heads there. As the new kid, the people she passes often turn to look, but she ignores them as always. After all, she probably won’t remember anyone in a few weeks' time, once they’re out of the city and, hopefully, across the country.

Despite the number of people filling the hallways, Mary tries to keep an eye out for her twin among the crowd. To anyone else, Sam would blend in all too well with the other students, but Mary knows what to look for in how he carries himself among people. He’s nowhere to be found.

Her search doesn’t end; when she enters the cafeteria, she scans the room for Sam’s face. When she doesn’t see him, she turns towards the students lining up to get their lunch, joining the masses in hopes that she might see him once she’s out of line. 

The line moves at a faster pace than she expects, and by the time she’s got her tray, the cafeteria hasn’t changed much. Mary searches the room for a familiar face, anxious to find a familiar face.

Susan said she would find her, but Mary is prepared to find Susan first. She moves towards a corner of the cafeteria to get a full view of the cafeteria, searching the nice girl with the auburn ringlets that rest on her shoulders and bright clothes that Mary would probably never wear.

She finds her sitting in a group near the large window on the opposite side of the room. Mary gathers herself and mentally prepares herself for the interaction as she makes her way across the room. The closer she gets, the louder the group seems, and Mary contemplates turning around and walking away. Still, Susan’s kindness was so sincere, so Mary persists.

“Susan?” Mary tries her name, but Susan doesn’t seem to hear her as she laughs at one of her friend’s jokes. Mary tries again, her tone harder and more pronounced. “Susan.”

That catches her attention. Susan looks up at Mary, but before she has time to say anything, the girl sitting by her side shoots her a disgusted look and says, “Ew, who invited the rag doll?”

Mary’s eyes go wide, and she takes a step back out of instinct. Susan looks from her friend back to Mary, and the light in her eyes is suddenly gone. Everyone at the table is suddenly staring at Mary, looking her up and down, judging her. Mary knows what they’re staring at; she doesn’t have new clothes like the rest of them, only a hand-me-down shirt that Sam outgrew before she had the chance to and faded jeans stained at the knees. 

“What do you want?” Someone at the end of the table asks while everyone else falls silent. 

Mary’s throat is dry, but she holds her composure. “Susan invited me.”

At least half of them turn to look at Susan, and she looks almost as speechless as Mary. She takes a moment to comb her hair behind one ear, buying herself a moment to think before she answers plainly, “No, I didn’t.”

Mary’s stomach drops. “Okay,” she answers slowly, like she’s processing her words and what they mean. “Look, I can just—”

“You’re one of the new kids, aren’t you?” The guy sitting on Susan’s other side is the one to ask, and Mary just nods her response. “I met your brother. He mentioned having a twin sister, but now I can  _ really _ see the resemblance.” He pauses as he looks her up and down, and Mary shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. Then, he finishes, “I mean, trash looks the same no matter who wears it.”

The table erupts in laughter at his words, and Mary can tell by the vacant look on Susan’s face that she doesn’t have anything to add. The boy by her side wraps his arm around her, and Susan suddenly can’t even bring herself to look at Mary.

Mary knows when to take the hint. She gives a single nod, accepting her situation before she turns on her heel. The table continues in their chatter and laughter while Mary makes her retreat. 

Eating lunch in the bathroom isn’t something she’s unfamiliar with, but the way Mary’s stomach has turned makes her abandon the idea of eating, dumping her tray in the trash before she leaves the cafeteria. She feels hurt and angry, reminded of why she never bothers with friends in the first place, why she only needs Sam when they're in school.

The bathroom isn’t far, and no one goes looking for her. The hallways are empty now, so there’s no one to see her when she enters the girl’s bathroom, just as there’s no one to see her enter the stall furthest from the door.

Sam isn't there; no one else bothers to come looking. No one sees her cry.

* * *

Mary’s out of the school doors as soon as the final bell rings, and she doesn’t look back. Her bag is heavy with the books she collected from her classes, but the weight doesn’t slow her down. She finds her way to the flagpole between the middle school and high school, where they’d agreed to meet after school to walk back to the motel.

She stands alone, waiting for her brothers to join her, the sky rumbling with thunder from above. Mary grips her backpack tighter and keeps looking around until she finally gets a glimpse of her twin for the first time since they parted in the office that morning.

The very sight of Sam is nourishing, relief rushing through Mary’s body as he approaches her. She turns just in time to see him crossing the bus lane towards her. His hazel eyes light up when he sees her, and the smile he gives her is almost enough to make up for the rest of the day.

“Hey.” Sam’s voice is soothing, washing over her and warming her like the sun that never seems to shine around here. Mary tries to match his smile, but Sam sees right through it. “What happened?”

It’s hopeless, hiding things from Sam. She has no reason to lie to him, but she wishes she could tell him that nothing happened, that she’s just tired. He’d probably see right through it, just as he sees through her until there’s nothing left but her truth.

“Almost made a friend,” she offers, coming to stand by his side. She looks towards the high school, watching for Dean. 

“Yeah. Me, too.” Sam knows she doesn’t want to talk about it, but if there’s anyone she can talk to about these things, it’s him. “And?”

“And then I didn’t.” Mary doesn’t look at Sam, just keeps looking for their brother among the people pouring from the buildings. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Dad said this hunt won’t last more than a couple weeks, at most.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t make friends.”

Mary lets out a sharp exhale through her nose and tucks her hair behind her ear. “You make it sound like you made some.”

It’s Sam’s turn to shrug, but he actually turns to look at her, making her meet his eyes. There’s a sadness there that Mary almost misses, but it’s real. “Those people don’t matter. You do.”

“What about me?” Dean’s voice comes from behind before he steps between them, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. The smile on his face tells them that he had a great first day, and the smell of perfume on him indicates that he had some fun while he was at it.

Somehow, it reminds Mary of Susan and how her friends treated her. Mary’s stomach turns with the memory of the rejection, and she removes herself from under Dean’s arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Woah, hey.” Dean starts after Mary, Sam following by his side as they make their way off of the campus. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing worth talking about.” Mary knows the way back to their motel, so she keeps her eyes ahead so she doesn’t have to look Sam or Dean in the eye. “I take it you had a good day.”

“Come on, Mary, don’t be like that.”

“ _ Dean _ .” Sam elbows their brother in the side, signaling for him to drop it. Mary just hopes that means neither of them will ask about it later.

“Okay, okay.” Dean sighs like he’s not ready to let it go, but he knows he has to. 

Silence follows them for a few minutes after that, punctuated by Mary’s heavy steps as she leads them back towards the motel. They’re halfway there when the sound of thunder echoes around them, and Mary looks up.

A drop of rain hits her on the cheek. Then another. And another.

“Damn it.” Dean takes off his jacket as it suddenly begins to rain heavily all around them. Sam picks up his pace so that he’s next to Mary, and Dean takes his jacket to wrap around them. “Let’s go!”

Mary doesn’t have to be told twice. She and Sam grip the jacket to keep it tugged over them, and together, they take off down the sidewalk with Dean close behind.

Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, thunder ringing once more. Mary tries to ignore how soaked her shoes get, how gross she feels running in damp clothes.

The motel isn’t too far, now, but somewhere along the way, Mary has a realization.

She fucking  _ hates  _ Washington. 

* * *

Sam’s first day goes a little different.

He meets a girl in his first class. Well, he doesn’t talk to her, but as soon as the teacher gives him the usual introduction to the class, Sam notices how her brown eyes never move from him.

Until he looks back.

Her head moves back towards the front of the class, and her blonde hair moves with her, giving her away. She leans forward in her seat, rests her elbows on her desk like she’s concentrating on what the teacher is writing on the chalkboard.

Sam tries to focus, aware that he has a week’s worth of work to catch up already. 

But every time she looks over at him, he feels it.

The attention is nice while it lasts. Sure, Sam’s used to people having a good look at him, making their assumptions and picking him apart before he gets a word out. But the girl with the brown eyes and the hair almost as blonde as Mary’s keeps looking over.

It’s as exciting as it is kind of terrifying.

The bell rings, and Sam’s the first out the door.

He follows the numbers on the classrooms to his next class, having already memorized his schedule. If the girl follows after him, he’ll never know, but he imagines that there’s a good chance she’ll get caught in the flow of the crowded hallway. Sam likes big schools because there’s less of a chance of being noticed, but his luck doesn’t always run so high.

The school seems aware of him by the time he gets around to fifth period. He notices more and more people looking in his direction, assessing him before they continue on their way. Sam wants to believe he’s used to it, reminding himself that none of these people will remember him in a month’s time.

But now? People are noticing.

“Watch it, Winchester!”

Sam hears the voice from behind him, but as soon as he tries to turn around, he’s tripped by the guy’s foot. He barely catches himself on his hands when he falls, a trick Dean taught him in one of their sparring sessions. When he turns, he looks up to a red-headed boy with the build of a lazy football player. Sam doesn’t have to stand to know the boy is taller than him, and he’s not sure if he should.

Sam’s aware of the snickering around him, the people who saw and the two boys that stand by the boy who tripped him like two puppies. It’s embarrassing, Sam thinks, and not just for him.

They’re walking away before Sam even remembers to stand, and the crowd passes, thinner as the next bell is soon to ring. Sam just continues on his way to his locker, his bag decidedly too heavy with workbooks. The combination comes easily from memory, and he takes his bag off to remove some of the books and stuff them inside his otherwise empty locker. He keeps his English books with him and zips up his backpack before closing the locker again.

He puts it back on, but he doesn’t feel much lighter.

Sam makes his way to the cafeteria, keeping his eyes out for Mary. He knows that there are three different lunch periods, and he knows that Mary has the lunch period right before him. It’s enough for him to keep an eye out for her, searching for blonde hair and green eyes and that denim jacket she always insists on wearing, hoping that their paths might cross just once before the day has a chance to get worse.

Mary is nowhere to be found; he’s missed her.

By the time he makes it to the cafeteria, he’s lost his appetite completely. Instead of getting in line for a tray of tasteless food, he opts for a table towards the back of the room, empty and unclaimed. Sam walks as fast as he can without giving himself away, and he seats himself with his back to the rest of the cafeteria. 

It’s perfect.

He gets to work immediately, taking out his English books to get a head start on the week he’s missed. The work is straightforward, but it gives him a distraction from the loud cafeteria and the din of voices that never have much to say.

“Hey, you’re that new kid. Winchester, right?”

“It’s Sam.” He declares it without looking up. Her voice is less threatening than the boy before, just enough to make him peak up from his workbook. Sam sits up as soon as he sees her.

It’s the girl from before, and she’s holding a tray in her hands. “Okay,  _ Sam _ . Mind if I join you?” 

Sam’s eyes widen, and he nearly chokes on his words. “Um, s-sure, yeah.” He starts collecting the other books he has scattered on the table, putting them back in his bag until he’s left with just the one open before him. She smiles at him in thanks, setting her tray down before she takes her seat across from him.

“My name’s Melissa, but all my friends call me Missy.”

“What does that mean I get to call you?”

She smiles like she has something to tell him, but she seems to hold back. “Whatever you like.”

Everything in her tone tells him that this is flirting, that she is flirting with him. It’s not something Sam’s used to; the flirting usually happens to Dean. It’s nice, but… different.

Now that she’s so close, Sam takes a moment to get a good look at Missy. Her hair is darker up close, blonde but not as bright as Mary’s. Her brown eyes are flecked with gold near her pupils, and Sam wonders if that that has anything to do with the fire he finds there.

“So,” she says, “where are you from?”

Sam knows the answer is Lawrence, Kansas. It’s never what he answers. “Just moved here from Missouri.”

Her eyes go wide at that. “A Missouri boy. You’ve come along way, haven’t you?”

“You have no idea.” It’s out of him before he can stop it, and the way she looks at him seems to sway between curiosity and some kind of attraction. It makes Sam’s throat feel dry. He trains his eyes back down on his book without another word.

She doesn’t take it for an answer. The next thing Sam knows, he’s seeing a pudding cup being pushed in his direction on the table. He looks up. “I’m not—”

“Hungry?” Missy looks at him like she doesn’t believe him, so she passes over a plastic spoon to set on top of the unopened cup. “I think you are. So, you can eat and talk to me. Sound good?”

Sam wants to use the excuse that he has a lot of work to catch up on, but he gets the feeling that she is not going to take no for an answer. The hopeful look in her eyes makes him give in, and he closes his book, reaching for the cup.

“Good,” she says, picking up her fork to poke at the pasta on her tray. “So, Sam Winchester. Tell me all about what brings you to Washington.”

The list is short, but she listens all the same. He lies through his teeth, and she eats it up more than anything else on her tray. Sam can’t deny that he enjoys the attention, the way she looks at him like he’s a mystery she can only hope to figure out.

Sam doesn’t say anything about how he’ll be gone soon. He just lets her ask her questions, and he gives her answers around mouthfuls of chocolate pudding. 

By the time the bell rings to end lunch, Sam runs out of lies to tell.

He hates to say goodbye to her, but he’s rarely ever been late for a class. They make their way out of the cafeteria together, but they separate just beyond the doors to go their separate ways, Missy looking back just to wave at him, “See you later, Sam!”

It’s Sam’s turn to smile, and he gives a little wave back before she disappears down the hall. That’s when Sam notices something about the way she walks, how her legs are bowed almost the same as Dean’s. The familiarity of it turns his smile into a grin.

Sam goes straight to his next class with a little more optimism than before, the idea that he may have made a friend, and his friend may have a thing for him. It’s kind of exciting, but something about it feels wrong. After all, he lied to her about why they moved, what his life is like. 

He wonders how Dean does it so well.

The rest of the school day flies by after that, and Sam’s thankful that his last classes have fewer books to offer him. By the time of the final bell, he’s ready to go back to the motel and start on his homework, so he swings by his locker to collect all of his things into his bag.

He barely manages to close his locker before he’s being shoved against the metal of it.

Sam turns his face just in time so he doesn’t hit his nose, but he knocks his head hard. The laughing from behind him tells him it’s the boy from earlier, and just when he’s about to turn and face him, he feels a forearm pressing against his shoulders, keeping him pinned there.

“Heard you were talkin’ to my girl, Winchester. What’s that about?”

Every time Sam tries to move, the pressure on his back gets harder, his elbow digging into one of Sam’s shoulder blades. “Who? Missy?’

“It’s  _ Melissa _ , dumbass. No one gets to call her Missy but me.”

At this point, Sam just closes his eyes, wanting to get out of this situation as soon as possible. “Fine, okay,” he says, knowing that the odds of this fight would never be in his favor. There are three of them, and Sam doesn’t want to make trouble on his first day, whether school is dismissed or not.

“Good.” He feels another shove before the boy lets go of him, stepping back so Sam can finally turn around. Sam winces at the twinge in his back, but he puts his backpack on without showing too much discomfort on his face. The boy steps closer to him, makes him press up against the lockers. “I even find out you look at her again, and you’re dead meat. Got that?”

Sam doesn’t even know this kid’s name. He doesn’t know anything except how his breath stinks, and he could seriously use some deodorant. Just another common bully, one he has to steer clear of if he wants to survive in this town before they find their way to the next. “Fine.”

“Good.” The boy straightens up and brushes himself off like he was the one pinned up against the locket, and he gives Sam this look before he walks away. Sam waits until they’re down the hall before he even breathes, relaxing his shoulders.

His walk to the flagpole is slow, but it’s worth it to see Mary standing there and waiting for him. Everything that’s been exhausted in him throughout the day seems to come to life at the sight of her, and when he smiles, he means it.

Mary just always manages to make him feel better, so he forgets his day and asks her about hers.

* * *

By the time they make it back to the motel, Sam and Mary are both soaked from at least the knees down. Dean’s soaked from head to toe, but he doesn’t complain. 

“Hey, hey. Shoes off,” he instructs before they have the chance to leave the salt circle that surrounds the door. He takes his jacket back from them and hangs it on one of the hooks by the door, water dripping down onto the carpet below. Dean flips on the light switch next to it, light filling up the motel room.

“Dibs on first shower,” Mary calls as she makes her way towards the bathroom, shrugging her backpack off and throwing it onto the end of the bed she and Sam have to share.

Sam sighs and removes his own bag before he takes off his jacket, the temperature of the room making goosebumps erupt all across his skin. He makes his way to the thermostat and turns it up. “I’ll go second.”

“Guess I’ll shower tomorrow, then,” Dean comments lightheartedly, indicating that he doesn’t care too much about it. “Make it quick, Mary. I’ll order us a pizza when Sam gets in.”

Mary throws a thumbs up his way before she grabs her bag from her side of the bed, taking it with her to the bathroom. It’s a matter of moments before Sam hears the water turn on, and he knows that Mary won’t take too long, since she’s going first. 

“Got any homework you gotta do?” Dean’s just asking, but he knows the answer. After all, they’re all a week behind.

“Yup.” Sam looks up to glance at Dean, just to catch him taking off his soaked shirt before ringing it out over the sink. Sam just sees the muscles of Dean’s back, the few scars he has littered here or there from hunts and accidents they’ve had in their training, alone. 

Sam licks his lips, looks away. 

“Well, you can get started on it after you shower and get something to eat.”

Sam doesn’t know why, but he has the urge to argue that he’s not hungry. His stomach disagrees with that thought immediately, remembering that they’re getting pizza that night, and just one pudding cup isn’t enough to satisfy his growing body. “Sounds good,” he replies, his voice nearly cracking before he clears his throat.

There’s the sound of a zipper, and Sam knows that Dean’s just getting out of his soaking wet clothes before Mary comes back out. They’re both boys, so it’s not a big deal, but Sam tries not to look at Dean where he stands in the kitchen, wringing the water out of his jeans now as well as his t-shirt.

He turns away so he can reach under the bed for his duffle, busying himself with the task of finding himself some clothes to change into. Sam figures the shirt he’s wearing is dry enough to wear again after his shower, just to save on laundry. He starts digging out clean clothes, listening to the shower and the water dripping from Dean’s clothes.

Dean stops at some point, and Sam hears him make his way to his bed behind him. Sam knows he’s in just his boxers, which are probably as wet as the rest of his clothes. He knows Dean’s looking for his own clothes to change into, and Sam knows he’ll have to change those, too. 

The sound of the shower turning off makes Sam look up to the bathroom door like Mary might walk out any second. It doesn’t happen, and he knows he’s just irrational, but for some reason he kind of feels he shouldn’t be where he is. Doing whatever it is he’s doing.

He’s just getting his clothes. Sam blinks and looks down at the clothes in his hands, reminding himself of exactly what he’s doing. He shakes his head like it will clear his thoughts, setting out his clothes so he can zip his bag clothes and be done with it.

Dean must have changed quickly because Sam sees him return to the kitchen in sweatpants and an old t-shirt out of the corner of his eye. Sam lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding before shoving the bag back under his side of the bed. 

The bathroom door opens to Mary, dressed in her own comfortable attire with her bag slung over her shoulder and a towel in her other hand. She looks from Sam to Dean and then back, drying her hair as she tosses her bag to the bed. “Your turn.”

Sam doesn’t have to be told twice. He moves around the bed and walks by Mary, heading straight for the bathroom. Mary turns to Dean after Sam passes. “We should go ahead and order the pizza. Sam, what kind are we thinking?

Sam stops in the doorway of the bathroom. “Uh, cheese?”

Dean almost looks like he’s offended from where he’s standing. “Half cheese for you two, half pepperoni for me.”

Sam doesn’t waste time in disputing. He nods, “Sounds good.” It’s all he gets out before he’s closing himself in the bathroom, and the last thing he hears through the door is Mary’s muffled voice saying, “I’m getting a piece of that pepperoni.” Sam hears her walk away, and he relaxes a little behind the wooden door.

Setting his clothes by the sink, Sam can’t help but look up at himself in the steamed-up mirror. His face looks damp like he’s been sweating, and Sam realizes exactly how warm he feels. And he’s pretty sure that puberty doesn’t come hot flashes. It comes with other things, like unwanted thoughts and imagines in his head about people that he really shouldn't think about that way. If he ignores them, maybe they'll go away; maybe they'll cease to exist.

He blames it on the warmth of the room like he hasn’t been warm since before he closed that door. He makes quick work of his clothes, making sure to squeeze the water from his jeans into the sink before he does the same with his underwear. He decides to leave them there to hang them up after his shower. 

Sam turns to the shower and finds the curtain closed. He doesn’t have to look up to see Mary’s clothes hung over the bar to dry. He doesn’t reach for them to move them, instead shoving the other half of the curtain back to get the water started.

While he waits for the water to heat up, he locks the door. Just because.

Once the water is warm enough, he pulls the pin to turn on the shower. Sam steps into the shower and pulls the curtain closed behind him. As much as he wants to enjoy the warm water, there’s no telling how long he has until the water runs out, so he gets straight to washing hair while the water is hot.

Sam loves showers. It’s almost the only time he has to himself, a time where he’s left to his thoughts and doesn’t have to worry about everything a hunter already has to worry about at his age. There are no salt lines in the shower—no guns, no knives, and nothing iron. 

Nothing, no one. Just Sam.

It leaves him to reflect on things. He washes his hair with shampoo and thinks about how much homework he has to do and how he wants to manage it. He rinses and grabs the conditioner, puts some in his hand and into his hair before he can even think about the day, his  _ first  _ day.

By the time he rinses his hair again, he’s thinking about that girl he met, Melissa. Missy. He grabs the bar of soap and begins to wash his body, but she doesn’t leave his mind. 

She was so nice with her blonde hair and big brown eyes, that smile that made Sam’s knees go a little weak. The way she looked at him, the way she looked as she walked away, where Sam could see the perfect shape of her—

Sam’s eyes snap open. He knows where his mind is going; he knows what his body wants. He doesn’t have to look down to know that he probably doesn’t have much of a choice, and hell, he’s got the time. He might as well.

He sets the bar of soap back where it belongs, deciding he’s cleaned himself enough with the bubbles that cover him. Sam knows he can do this quickly, so he doesn’t waste time running his hands through the soap on his chest, dragging them down until his hands find himself between his legs.

It’s nice; it’s always nice. Sam knows what he likes, exactly how to touch himself, and the rest is up to his mind. He closes his eyes and thinks of Missy, tries to remember her and how she looked at him with her smile, teasing him. He pictures her licking her lips, what their shape is. 

Sam touches himself and wonders what it would be like to kiss her, to press their lips together and get his hands in her hair. He wonders if it’s as soft as it looks, if her blonde locks are as soft as Mary’s—

Sam’s eyes snap open again, and his hand stops like he’s frozen in place.

He’s gotten off track, that’s all. Sam shakes his head and closes his eyes again, returning his thoughts to her again before continuing to move his hand. He thinks about what Missy might taste like, if it’s as good as Dean makes it sound. Dean always has a way with words when he talks about that stuff, from vague hints to filthy truths that Sam doesn’t always want to believe.

Sam widens his stance in the shower and moves his hand a little faster. He can’t help it when his mind goes to one of Dean’s stories, how he hooked up with this girl at a football game the year before. Sam thinks about that story but with himself in Dean’s place, Missy on her knees beneath the bleachers where no one can see them but anyone could find them. 

Dean told it so much better than Sam reproduces it in his head. Sam knows because he wasn’t supposed to hear it, overhearing Dean telling some boys he befriended a few states back. Those boys were as fascinated as Sam was, and Sam’s thankful for the memory, now.

He can almost hear Dean saying it, voice rough as he recollects the story. Sam remembers the excitement he felt just eavesdropping, the way his heart raced and his blood rushed between his legs. That feeling creeps over Sam again before he realizes it, but he quickly reminds himself of who he’s supposed to be thinking about here.

Missy. Missy. Missy.

_ Mary _ .

Sam gasps as he’s hit with the force of his orgasm, and the mere surprise of it almost earns a sound out of him. He chokes it down and bites the first of his other hand. The smallest whimper escapes him as he squeezes his eyes tightly shut, riding it for feels like minutes but is only a matter of seconds.

When he opens his eyes, he’s stuck under a spray of water that’s starting to get cold and he doesn’t feel any cleaner than he did before the shower.

Sam washes his hands under the spray and does a quick full-body rinse before he turns off the water. His warmth starts to seep away despite the steam that fogs up the room from his shower. He shoves the curtain aside with so much force that he knocks Mary’s clothes off and onto the floor. Sam rolls his eyes and grabs the second and last clean towel from the rack on the wall, drying himself off before he steps out and onto the cheap bathroom mat on the floor. 

Carefully, he closes the shower curtain. He wraps the towel around his waist and reaches down for Mary’s clothes, picking up her jeans and throwing them over the bar before he has to grab her panties and do the same.

He tries really, really hard not to think about what he did in the shower. What it might or might not mean. Sam doesn’t want to think about it.

Sam snaps out of it, pushes his thoughts away as he grabs his own clothes from the sink so he can throw them over the shower curtain next to Mary’s. Once that’s done, he lets himself focus on getting dressed in his clean clothes, though he puts on the shirt he was wearing before. 

He dries his hair with the towel one last time before he hangs it on the towel rack to dry. Sam hesitates to look in the mirror one more time before he opens the door, like there’s something there that he might have to hide, something worth covering up.

Sam just swallows and wipes his hand over the fogged mirror, as if that will fix his reflection the way he wants it.

The door opens and the steam rushes out before him. The cool air of the rest of their room finds Sam’s face and chills his damp hair against his skin. That’s when Sam smells it, the familiar scent of pizza.

“Took you long enough!” He hears Dean call to him before he even leaves the bathroom. Sam steps past the threshold and turns around the corner to see Dean and Mary seated at the table with a box of pizza in the middle. They’ve each got a piece in their hand, and they’re both looking at Sam.

He feels guilty in more ways than they’ll ever know.

Mary kicks her leg under the table to shove the third chair out from under the table. “Come on, then. Get it while it’s hot.”

Sam’s body feels heavy, but the rumble of his stomach doesn’t let him drag his feet on his way to the table. He sits down without a word and goes for a slice from the side that’s nothing but cheese. Mary slides one of the paper napkins over to him and he nods in thanks; it’s the same thing they’ve been doing since they were kids.

They don’t have to talk, but Dean keeps them in conversation, anyway. Sam listens more than he speaks that night, finishes only two slices of pizza before he’s ready to leave the table.

Mary cleans up the table once they’re all finished, and Sam gets up and goes to their bed. He feels more tired than anything, now. It’s enough to call him to the bed, his body just incredibly heavy with what he knows to be more than simple exhaustion.

“Going to bed already, Sammy?” Dean asks from the other side of the room while Sam pulls the cheap duvet back.

Mary walks over until she’s directly in Sam’s line of view. “What about our homework?”

“I’ll do some in the morning.” Sam flips his pillow over to make it more comfortable, pulling the blanket up over him like he has to hide beneath it. “M’just tired, I guess.”

Mary’s face gives her away, and he can tell she doesn’t believe him entirely. Since Dean’s there, he knows she’s not going to ask just as she’s not going to push it. “Okay. Get some sleep, then.” She moves to the end of the bed and grabs her backpack instead, gathering her homework without him.

Sam nods to her and looks up to see Dean looking at him with a worried and only slightly convinced look on his face. He pulls the blankets up further like he has something to hide.

“Come on, Sammy.  _ You’re _ tired? It’s not even seven yet.”

Sam rolls his eyes and tries to get comfortable in the bed, turning away from either of his siblings. “I said I’m tired.”

“Alright, no need to be a bitch about it.”

Sam would roll his eyes again, but he decides to just close his eyes, instead. “I’m  _ not _ . Quit being a jerk.”

He hears Mary let out a heavy breath before she whispers, “Idiots.”

“I heard that,” Dean snaps from the kitchen, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I know,” Mary shoots back, and Sam can just hear the smile in her voice. “Are you doing homework, too, or are you just going to stand there and guard the sink?”

There’s the sound of footsteps, then the sound of Dean pulling a chair out from the table and sitting down. Sam can just picture it in his head, how cocky Dean looks when he walks to the table, how he lets his legs sprawl out once he’s sat down. Sam tries to shove his face into the pillow.

“Because if not, I’m gonna need that whole table.”

Sam groans from where he lies in bed, rolling onto his back and pressing his palms to his eyes. “Whatever you guys do, can you just do it quietly?”

His words are met with silence for a few moments, and since that’s what he’s been looking for, he rolls back over and makes himself comfortable again. 

“Sure, Sam.” Mary sets her bag back to the floor with a soft thud, and her footsteps are featherlight on the carpet as she makes her way between the two beds. She flips the switch on the lamp there, leaving only the light in the kitchenette to fill the room. “What time do you want to wake up in the morning?”

Sam shrugs beneath the blankets. “Whenever you do.”

“I’ll set the alarm an hour early, then. I’ll help you catch up on some of your homework.”

Dean scoffs. “You two better let me sleep in.”

“I will if I can get some sleep, first.” Sam shifts so that he’s facing the other way, where he knows Mary will join him in just a few hours.

“Okay. Goodnight, Sam.” Sam nearly jumps when he feels her hand on his back. Even through the covers, he swears he feels her warmth. He holds his breath for the one moment it’s there, reminding himself to breathe even after it’s gone.

Mary and Dean end up settling down at the table to get started on school work. They don’t speak too much, but when they do, Sam has to resist the urge to throw the pillow over his head. He listens, instead, for the sound of rain hitting the motel, tapping against the window as it pours outside.

Sam doesn’t mind Washington; he just has to  _ survive  _ it.

That’s all they ever do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes left are my own! My beta has been incredibly busy, so I briefly went through the chapter myself so I could still publish tonight. 
> 
> If you're enjoying the story, please let me know what you think in the comments! <3


	4. 1997

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester becomes a man; Sam is growing into one. Just when Mary feels most alone, things take a turn.
> 
> Nothing will ever be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long overdue, and I am so sorry for the wait. My beta and I finally sat down together this evening to face the music, and we decided it was best to go ahead and publish what we have and save the rest for the chapters to come.  
My longest chapter yet, and it's still only the beginning. Enjoy~

**1997**

It’s not safe to stay anywhere for too long; that’s why they have to keep moving. But it means there’s no room for friends, no time to make a home apart from the comfort they find in the Impala. 

Dean drives it through the majority of their holiday break. It’s the perfect time to find another case, one after the other because they don’t have school to keep them in one place.

John makes him drive a lot more these days, and Dean’s noticed. He’s always John’s go-to when there’s something to get done, and Dean’s always mindful of his “yessir”’s when it comes to their father. Besides, he likes the distraction when he’s in the car, always feels right at home when he’s behind the wheel and revving her engine—making her purr.

It’s one of the most soothing sensations, right up there with the kind of post-sex haze he gets after a good night out. Dean wouldn’t complain even if he had the heart to.

When school starts back up, he doesn’t have to climb so much, but they eventually end up back in Sioux Falls where Bobby always has an open door policy. It stands only for them, as far as Dean knows, and he’s thankful for it. If they ever had a home again, it could have been at Bobby’s.

It’s nearing the end of January again. Dean’s well aware that his birthday is coming up, just as he knows the twins are. But he doesn’t say a word. They’re there because there’s a case not too far off in Iowa that’s a little more complicated, requires a little more research. It keeps them busy.

Sam must like it; he’s always got his nose stuck in a book these days. Dean likes to see him helping out on a case, but seeing how easily it comes to Sam makes his stomach twist. Dean started out doing research, helping their father to jot down notes in his journal by the time he was old enough to reach the pedals. It leads to the real thing: hunting real things, putting your life on the line to save real people. Dean’s not naive to think that Sam won’t get there someday soon. 

He’ll have to; it’s the family business.

The thought makes Dean shiver. It’s already a cold January in South Dakota, so they’ve got the fireplace going inside, stew going on the stove. It’s the night before Dean’s birthday, but he’s got a headache from staring at pages for too long looking for connects they could make to whatever’s killing folks in Iowa. 

He leaves Sam to the books open and scattered across the desk. He jots down notes with his right hand, and to his left, Mary reads her own book on the couch. Sam may be doing research for the case, but Mary’s got a book open for school, always busying herself with homework. It’s like she never runs out.

John hasn’t said anything, so Dean doesn’t either. He’s kinda happy for it, actually. Her skills are usually put to use after a hunt, when there are stitches to be stitched, wounds to be wrapped. Like a healer, their healer. Dean wonders from time to time if she gets that from their mother.

Dean rubs his neck and makes his way into the kitchen to check on the stew. He makes sure to stir it, tasting it to make sure that it’s just right. It’s not perfect, but it’s a warm meal for a winter night. 

He turns the burner down to the lowest setting and walks back to peek at the twins. “Hey. Dinner’s ready.

Sam nods, but he doesn’t look up. Mary closes her book and sees how Dean looks at Sam, so she looks to her twin. Sam’s caught up in his research like it’s life or death, where he doesn’t have to look up or say a word to either Dean or Mary.

Mary turns back to Dean and tucks her book in her lap. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean shrugs like it’s nothing, but it’s more than they usually get to accomplish in any kitchen. “I’m gonna go tell Dad and Bobby. You guys can dig in.”

Mary stands from the couch and heads for the kitchen. Dean stands still for a moment longer, watches Sam go from book to book, chasing the words with his eyes like they’ll run away if he doesn’t catch them. Part of him wants to make a comment, call him a nerd or a geek for how intense he’s being, but he gets the feeling that it's not worth it, that Sam won’t even hear him if he tries.

He turns back to the kitchen and calls back to Mary, since she’s open to listening, “I’m gonna go get Dad and Bobby. Figure they’ve been out in the yard long enough.”

Mary’s already got herself a bowl and a spoon, but she still stops to check her watch. “They’ve been out there a while. Did they tell you what they’re working on?”

“Not a damn clue.” Dean shrugs again and pulls his jacket off the back of one of the chairs at Bobby’s kitchen table, throwing it on and adjusting it until it’s comfortable, like a second skin. “Be back in a few.”

By the time he’s at the door and tying his boots to head outside, Dean thinks he can hear their voices not far off from the house. He’s still set on telling them that dinner’s ready, so he heads out the door and immediately catches a glimpse of their flashlights approaching the house.

“Dean! I was just about to come get you.” John’s voice beckons Dean forward, moving down the steps and onto the ground, putting him on the right level when it comes to their dad. “Got something for you.”

That makes Dean’s eyebrows raise. “For me?”

“Did I stutter?” The cold of the night doesn’t stop Dean’s face from heating up, but he can tell by the look in John’s eyes that it’s more light-hearted than anything.

Regardless, Dean still answers, “No, sir.”

He doesn’t catch the look that Bobby shares with his father, but he does hear Bobby sigh heavily into the night. “Dinner ready, then?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, it’s ready. That’s what I came out to get you guys for.”

“Perfect timing,” Bobby grumbles. He claps a hand on John’s back. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

John looks at his oldest son, and Dean just stands there while Bobby makes his way around him to head inside. The door closes with a soft squeak behind him, leaving Dean alone with his father in the cold of the night.

Dean knows better than to start asking questions, so he waits for John to speak first.

“Let’s go around to the front.”

It’s not a suggestion, but it doesn’t come out as an order, either. Dean puts his hands in his pockets and follows by John’s side, his flashlight keeping their path lit as they leave the security light by the back door. 

The first thing Dean sees as they found the house is the Impala sitting in the front, facing the porch. John puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him there, so they’re between the front steps and her lifeless headlights.

“Give me your key, son.”

He’s not expecting that, but he immediately feels for the keys in his pocket. “Which one?”

John gives him a look. “Which one?  _ Her  _ key, Dean. Give me yours.”

Dean blinks, turns from the Impala to John, who removes his hand from Dean’s shoulders just to hold it out, waiting for the key. Dean’s throat feels dry. “Dad—”

“Just do it, Dean.” He looks like he’s growing impatient, and Dean knows better than to keep him waiting. 

His jaw clenches as he digs into his pocket for his ring of keys. He carries a lot of duplicates to John’s own keys, backups entrusted to him. Dean finds the spare key to the Impala and removes it from the ring so he can hand it to John. 

“Good.” John closes his fingers around the key and pockets it, only to take out another. He holds it to Dean. “Now you can take this one.”

Dean’s almost reluctant to look, but when he does, he almost feels his knees go weak. John’s holding the Impala’s key,  _ his _ key, the original. It makes him scoff, smiling before he sees the look on John’s face. “Dad… You’re serious?”

“Do I look like I’m kiddin’?”

Dean swallows hard and turns the key in his hands, runs his thumb along the ridged edge. He doesn’t know what to say, and for once, he’s thankful when John starts talking, instead.

“Figured it was about time, with you being a man now. Still got a lot to learn, but you’ve always been a fast learner. And I know I can trust you with her.”

He can’t stop turning the key over in his hand, almost in awe with it before he manages to look up again. “What are you gonna drive?”

John crosses his arms and widens his stance, breathes out a heavy sigh through his mouth. “Bobby’s got a truck for me. Think it’ll serve me well.”

That puts them at two vehicles. “That’s twice the gas.”

His father shrugs. “Guess we’ll have to apply for twice the credit cards, then, huh?”

It’s true, but it still makes them laugh like it’s an inside joke. It almost is. Dean closes his fingers around the key and holds it in his fist, feels it press hard against the skin of his palm. It’s a symbol, now: a sign that he’s a trusted man, an adult in the eyes of the law. 

So, why doesn’t he feel any different?

John claps his hand on Dean’s back one last time, just as his smile begins to fade with his thoughts. He doesn’t offer anything else to say before he turns towards the house, slipping away and leaving Dean to his thoughts, the key in his hands and his eyes trained on the car.

Dean hears the screen door swing closed behind John, and he can see his breath in the air when he exhales. His birthday is tomorrow, the day he turns eighteen, and he already knows that nothing will change beyond that. He’s grateful to the key, the chance to call Baby his own, to take and do with her as he pleases.

But Dean would do that most of the time, anyway. Now, she’s his full time. He’s grateful, really, but it could be just another day because Dean doesn’t feel any change. He may have grown and adapted through the years, but hasn’t he been doing most of the same things for years, now? 

Hasn’t John always treated him like a young man, if not a boy? Or held him to that standard?

There’s no “happy birthday” involved. Dean doesn’t need one. 

When he goes back to the house, he’s thankful for the warmth, the atmosphere, almost like the feeling that comes with home.

_ This is enough for now _ , Dean thinks. Because he has the key to their real home in his pocket.

* * *

At some point, things start changing.  _ Really _ changing. More than Mary’s used to.

Some things are easier to accept, while others are… not. It’s impossible to pinpoint when or why, but at some point, Sam began to distance himself from everyone—including Mary. 

She doesn’t know how to ask him, which is also new. Not too long ago, Mary could have looked into Sam’s eyes and knew what was on his mind, could have slept in the same bed and felt what he was feeling before they both reached sleep.

Now, she’s lucky if she can get him to look at her at all. It seems the only person he looks up for is their dad because that’s what John expects, and if he doesn’t get it, he’ll make sure he does.

So Mary can sleep in the same bed as him no matter where they are, and even though she can feel his body heat, she feels as cold as if she were sleeping alone. 

For the first time, Mary feels alone.

There’s no talking to Sam, no chance of talking to Dean. John doesn’t need to know, probably wouldn’t give a shit. He has Dean helping him with almost every hunt now, with Sam working behind the scenes, always busy doing research if he isn’t doing his homework. 

Mary just does her homework. And when she finishes that, she makes up more stuff to do. Recently, she’s been checking out books from the school library just so she can pass it off as homework. She’s almost never in Sam’s classes these days, so she passes it off well most of the time, and it serves her well. One of the perks of isolation is the ability to focus on her grades.

But this is the first time her good grades really get her noticed. 

“Miss Winchester. Can I see you for a moment?”

The bell isn’t even finished ringing when her teacher calls her up to her desk. Mary’s not really in a hurry to get to P.E., so she takes her time in getting her books together. The room’s nearly empty by the time she gets her bag zipped up, and they’re the only two left when she slings it over her shoulder and walks to stand on the side opposite her teacher. “Yes?”

Ms. Finch is not like any teacher Mary has ever had, and she’s had a lot. She’s in her late twenties, doesn’t wear a wedding ring, and never made Mary introduce herself to the class. Mary only knows all this because this school keeps her in the same classroom except during P.E. and lunch, so Ms. Finch is the only teacher she has to go by. 

Mary imagines that if she wore glasses, she’d be setting them down on the desk at this point.

“I want to talk to you about your grades.”

That makes Mary’s face screw up in confusion.“What about them?” She can’t help the bite in her tone, but she’s been doing her school work, and she knows she’s been doing it right. “I’ve done all the assignments, even for—”

“Next week, yes. I saw them in the turn-in box.”

“Was I not supposed to turn those in yet?”

Her teacher sighs and leans back in her chair. “Well, they’re not due yet, but I’ll tell you that I’m not mad about it. In the last week since you’ve been here, you’ve shown a tremendous incentive for your schoolwork, and your grades are perfect.”

Mary pulls her bag tighter on her shoulder. “Perfect?”

Ms. Finch nods, then taps on her chin with one of her manicured fingers as if in through. “You’ve excelled in every subject we have to offer, Mary. I’ve peaked at your transcripts, and it’s not just our curriculum. You should be in advanced classes, would be if we offered them here. And I bet you’d excel in those, too.”

Her arms cross over her chest, still defensive from where she stands. “So… what are you going to do with me?”

It’s not hard to see the decision on her teacher’s features, the way she sits up and places her hands on her desk in a way that tells Mary she should be sitting for what’s about to come out of her mouth.

“I would like to recommend you for the next grade.”

Mary’s green eyes widen, and the first thing she thinks of is being in the same school as Dean. “High school?”

“Yes. You will have to study to test out of the eighth grade, but I can tell you’re a quick learner.”

Mary feels like the classroom might be spinning a little, or at least tilted some. “I don’t even know if I’m going to be here for that much longer, Ms. Finch,” she confesses.

“I know.” Her teacher clasps her hands together on top of her desk, and she begins to smile, as though proud of herself. “There’s a trend in your transcripts, you don’t tend to stay more than a month in one school, sometimes less. I don’t know your family’s business, and I won’t ask, but if you’re willing to try it, we could get this done in two weeks.”

Now Mary really needs to sit down, but she doesn’t trust herself to move. She brings a hand up to comb her blonde hair back, getting it out of her face. “Two  _ weeks _ ?” 

John had called yesterday to tell them that it might take another two, maybe three weeks. 

That makes this real, more real than the way her teacher nods, pleased. Mary thinks of Sam, about what it would mean to leave him behind. “What about my brother?”

Ms. Finch blinks, a dead giveaway that tells her she never gave it any thought. “Your brother?”

“My twin. His name is Sam, he’s in Ms. Donovan’s class. He makes good grades, too”

“I see. Well, I’ll have to talk with her, then, but I can’t promise anything. You, though.” She points her finger at Mary and nods. “I think you’re capable of more, and I’d like to help you.”

She seems so sincere, even as she waits patiently for Mary’s answer. The idea excites her, but that’s not the reason her stomach turns a little as she considers it. She thinks of Dean always on a hunt nowadays, Sam with his head buried in research and ready to follow in his footsteps. Then she considers her father, the man who’s always two steps from never being there. She thinks of how many days she’s spent alone, how many nights she’s felt the isolation even when she isn’t, and the decision is already there for her. It’s now or never. “When can we start?”

The tardy bell rings suddenly throughout the school, and Mary looks to the door like she should have followed after her classmates by now. But she can’t move, not until Ms. Finch gestures for her to take a seat in the desk across from her.

“We can start now.”

* * *

The plan is as simple as it is complicated.

There are many subjects to pour over and some tests to pass in a couple of weeks. It’s the perfect time window, and when the time comes to move to her new school, Ms. Finch agreed to send over the transcripts and proof that she tested out of the 8th grade. Then, if they’ve done it right and she’s lucky enough, maybe they’ll give her a shot at their 9th-grade curriculum.

Mary doesn’t tell anyone even though she technically has to get John’s permission, but that’s just an easily forged signature on her part—a practice she and Sam had perfected for many school papers and permissions slips.

The rest is between her and Ms. Finch. Mary skips the library for the books she gets from her teacher, fills her bag every day with new material. Anything she doesn’t get to at night, she goes over in class while the other students learn about things she already knows.

It’s easy because it’s a distraction, easy knowledge. It’s hard because she doesn’t have the heart to tell Sam. That also means she can’t tell Dean, who would probably make a joke about her being too smart before commending her on her efforts.

Because one less year of schooling is one year closer to hunting, right? 

John would probably say something like that if it were Sam. Mary knows by now that John doesn’t like the idea of her hunting, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t trained well. It’s the fear factor she has yet to experience, the same as Sam. 

Sam’s the one John’s considering taking on a hunt.

Mary studies her school books, her packets, her papers. Sam does the little homework he has and goes straight to research for John, and when he asks Mary why she never runs out of homework, she tells him it’s because her teacher is tough on new kids.

Lying to her twin. It’s not really a first, but this is different and she knows it. This is keeping something from Sam, something big that he deserves to be in on. She feels one part guilty and two parts vindictive, for if they all paid a little more attention, they would have noticed, but they haven’t. She’s gotten used to John not noticing the developments in her life, but she’s not used to the same thing occurring with her brothers. That part is a first.

She’s having a lot of those these days.

* * *

For months, all Sam has known are books.

He’s thankful for it, thankful for the distraction. If he didn’t have it, he’d be thinking about other things. Things he used to be able to ignore, but recently, it’s all he can think about when he’s not doing something to keep his mind moving.

Doing research for John’s hunts is the only thing he can dedicate his time to because his homework can only take up so much time. It gets him praise from their father, but he doesn’t know why Sam’s doing it, why he’d rather be in a library or pouring over books instead of dealing with Dean or Mary.

It’s a good thing they don’t know. John would probably kill him if he did.

It’s kind of fucked up, but almost everything about their life is. But this is something that’s entirely Sam’s, his own problem and he has to deal with it in complete silence.

He’s never said it out loud, not even to himself. Not yet.

There’s little to say to his brother and sister these days. If he opens his mouth, he’s afraid they’ll see right through him. Now that he knows it, who’s to say he can really hide it from them? Especially Mary.

It’s hardest with her.

Dean sleeps in the other bed; that’s how it’s always been. But Sam still shares a bed every night with his twin, where he used to be able to feel her warmth without feeling it to his bones, feel her breath against his skin without it sending goosebumps across his skin.

And it’s agony, being so close to her but having to force himself away from her when she’s too close, when she reaches for him in the night without realizing it, tucking herself to his side like she belongs there.

In a way, she does. But Sam’s just making it twisted with something that comes from deep within, something dark he doesn’t know how to name, heavy like a stone in his stomach that might have always been there.

Sometimes he goes to the library just to feel like he can breathe.

“Ah, Mr. Winchester. Back again?”

Small towns mean small libraries, and this one only has two librarians. The one at the front desk knows almost everyone that comes through the front doors, and if she doesn’t, then she does before they leave.

He scratches at the back of his head with one hand, the other in his pocket. “Yeah, but I don’t need any history books or town articles.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raise and she takes off her glasses, letting them dangle from their chain around her neck. “What are you looking for?”

“Thought I might look at the fiction section.” It’s better than nonfiction, and sometimes, they’re almost more accurate. “Far-left corner, right?”

She smiles at him like she’s proud of him for remembering. “Of course, dear. If you need anything, you know where we are.”

The smile Sam offers her in return is stiff, but he moves swiftly through the bookshelves until he finds what he’s looking for. He skips over the science-fiction because most of the books are falling apart or just plain boring. That’s when he finds himself in the Young Adult section, which isn’t much bigger but still has a few promising titles.

Some of the books are ones he’s been assigned before in different classes across the country. He finished "The Outsiders" in a day, wrote a paper on the symbolism in "Lord of the Flies" a few months ago. 

He keeps looking because he just wants something he can sit down with, something worth staying in the library instead of going back to the motel where Mary’s probably doing homework while Dean’s out on a date with some girl named Poppy.

It’s that thought that makes him stop at a title, a book with a good width to it and alluring title.

“ _ Flowers in the Attic _ ?” 

The cover looks ominous, like a mystery. But when he turns the book over to read the summary teaser, he’s immediately enthralled. He licks his lips, his hazel eyes wide as he stares down at the paperback in his hands.

Sam looks up and down the aisles like he’s going to get in trouble for even looking at the book, but there’s no one there. The library is almost completely silent. It’s perfect.

Quietly, he finds his way to the reading area where he finds a seat he’s taken a handful of times. The only difference is that he’s not here to do research, and the book in his hands is way too promising to put down.

He sits down, tries to make himself as comfortable as he can get when he’s already feeling a little to warm, a little too hopeful. Sam’s heart races as he turns to the first page. The prologue is about that size, spoken from a girl’s point of view. Her name is Cathy, and she describes herself in a way that reminds him of Mary.

So, he thinks of Mary. And in Christopher, Cathy’s older brother, he thinks of Dean. They’re the oldest of four, forced to be parents to their younger twins when their mother and twisted grandmother confine them to a room and attic while she tries to weasel her way into their grandfather’s will to inherit his fortune. 

He knows right away that he should stop reading it, but he can’t. He reads until the sun sets, and then he has to head home because that’s the rule for them: home before dark.

When he puts the book on the desk with his library card, the librarian gives him a curious look before scanning it, stamping the slip inside with its due date. “Thanks,” he says as she slides the book and card back to him.

He’s out the door before she has the time to say anything else.

Sam puts the book in his backpack like it’s a secret, and it feels like a brick in his bag. It’s just a book, but he’s already a little more than halfway through with it, and he  _ knows _ what it’s leading to, what’s happening between Cathy and her brother Christopher because they’re locked in that room, bound to such little space with nothing but that attic to feel free.

It speaks to Sam in a way that echoes through him. They’re not twins, but they take care of their little brother and sister who  _ are _ twins, and that’s good enough for Sam.

The Texas humidity makes him sweat on his way back to the motel, but it’s something else that keeps him from cooling down when he steps into the air conditioning.

“Hey.” Mary greets him without looking up from her books. She’s at the table like Sam usually is, but all of the texts laid out in front of her are purely academic. Sam doesn’t even want to know. As long as she’s not looking at him, he doesn’t have to hide so much.

Sam closes and locks the door behind him, stepping over salt line. He can tell Mary’s been sitting at the table for a while because her hair is up in a tie and she hasn’t turned on the overhead light yet.

He does it for her, to which she sighs a grateful, “Thank you.”

Dean’s still not there. Sam turns on the lamp between the beds without thinking about it. “Homework?”

“Yep.” He hears her turn the page before her pencil starts squeaking as she scribbles down her notes. Sam’s already on edge, and the noise makes him clench his teeth. “How was the library?”

“It was good.”

“Find anything good to read?”

“Nope.” Sam worries he might have answered too quickly, but Mary’s still too involved in her studying to look up at him. “I mean, nothing worth checking out.” His stomach turns because he’s lying to her, a feeling he’s had to get used to recently. He’d tell her the truth if it didn’t lead to the whole truth, and she can’t know that. 

Mary just nods and falls quiet as she keeps writing. Sam would ask what she’s working on, but he never gets a full answer. Apparently her teacher likes piling her with work, and she’d rather do it on her own than have him help. 

That’s fine with Sam. It saves him the effort of the interaction, of maintaining himself and his thoughts through the whole of their interaction. The book is still in his bag, and he’s dying to find out what happens after the chapter with the Christmas party.

He thinks he knows what’s coming, and he’s dying to find out. “Think I’m gonna take a shower.”

“She’s all yours.” Mary sets her pencil down and raises her arms above her head in an attempt to stretch. Sam tries not to watch the way her shirt rides up with it, shows off the smooth skin of her stomach and the shadow of her bellybutton. He really needs to take a shower. “Got a big test tomorrow, so I’ll probably be studying until Dean gets back.”

Sam’s old enough to know that Dean’s not gonna be in until it’s really dark, when he’s good and ready to make his way back. It won’t be too late because they have school in the morning, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be back for midnight, if that.

He goes to his side of the bed to get his bag, pulls some clean clothes out to get ready to the shower. When Mary’s back to her studying, he reaches for his backpack and unzips it where she can’t see him bundle the book in his clothes.

There’s nothing to say when he sneaks away to the bathroom, locks the door behind himself as quietly as he can manage. He goes to the shower and turns on the cold water so the noise fills the bathroom. Carefully, he removes the book from his clothes, letting them fall to the floor.

It feels like a dirty secret because that’s exactly what it is. 

Sam sets the book down on the sink and takes his shirt off over his head. Then, he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, lets them fall off his narrow hips and pool at his ankles until he steps out of them.

He’s left in his underwear, and he still feels a little too warm. In the mirror, he can see the flush on his cheeks, the pink tint that follows down his neck and to his chest. 

He wonders for a moment if this is how Dean looks like this, if this is anything like what the girls get to see of him when he’s got his shirt off and he’s all hot like Sam feels now. He wonders if Mary blushes like this, if it follows down her chest the same way his does, or if it goes further down.

Sam’s gripping the sink without realizing it, and he has to close his eyes and take in a deep breath before he can ease it. When he breathes out, he feels the tension leave a little, and he’s left staring at himself in the dirty square mirror once again.

He’d blame it on puberty if it weren’t for everything else that led him to this.

If there was a window in the bathroom, he’d open it. Instead, he just grabs the book with one hand and steps over to the toilet, setting the lid down so he can sit on top of it.

Sam opens up to the page he last left off, having memorized the page number before he left the library. The bathroom is filled with the sound of water hitting tile, loud and cold.

It’s everything Sam needs to get away with this, something so innocent yet so dirty, so wrong that he has to hide from his family just to read a book.

If only they knew.

He doesn’t know how long he reads for, but no one comes knocking. Sam reads until his body goes cold, when the words on the page make him clench his teeth and his eyes go wide. The thing between Christopher and Cathy, the way they gravitate towards each other when their mother abandons them and they have no one else.

It’s the first thing that’s made him feel alive in months.

All because it sounds a little too familiar.

* * *

Mary’s heart races as she pores over her books, making notes and trying to memorize equations, definitions, and everything in-between. It’s been two weeks, and the hunt has finally come to an end. Sam’s done with research, and John’s supposed to be there tomorrow to sign them out and pick them up from school.

It’s perfectly timed, as always. They’ll be in a new school on Monday, if they’re lucky. But tomorrow is Friday, the day she tests to see if she can test out of the eighth grade and into high school. If she passes, she gets to start ninth grade at their next school, like a trial run to see if she can really keep up.

Mary thinks she can. She’s determined to.

She loses track of time as much as Sam does where he stays in the bathroom, and it’s an unknowingly perfect arrangement for both of them. The only thing missing is Dean, but Mary’s getting used to his absence since he almost always gets to help hands-on with hunts. 

But the hunt is over, and Mary knows he’s not out scamming some cash on a pool game or a round of poker with cheap cards and even cheaper beer. No, she knows where he is.

_ It’s stupid _ , she thinks as she turns a page in her science book, poising her pencil above her spiral notebook like she’s going to write something. But now she’s thinking about it, how she’s alone and Dean’s out on a date, and Sam can hardly meet her eyes for some reason.

The room feels a little stuffy even though the air conditioner’s been running for hours to keep it cool. Mary drops her pencil and closes her eyes because she hasn’t been paying attention to the words on the last three pages. She rubs her eyes with her fingers like it’ll wipe her mind clear again. 

“Come on, Rosemary,” she mutters to herself, hoping for a spur of energy when she suddenly feels how exhausted she is. Once she opens her eyes, she decides it’s best to stand and walk around for a second.

It’s not the smallest motel room they’ve ever been in, but it’s definitely not one of the bigger ones. Mary moves towards the air conditioner to change the temperature setting, hoping it’ll make her a little more comfortable in her skin. 

That’s when she hears it. Beyond the rumble of the unit in the window, she hears the purr of an engine, one of the most familiar sounds she’ll ever hear in her entire life, the sound of home.

The sound of Dean.

It rumbles through to her core, where her heart races in her chest. There’s always been an excitement behind seeing Dean again, but there’s something else behind it this time. Something she still doesn’t know how to name.

She sees the headlights through the grey curtains and her mouth feels as dry as the Texas heat. Once the engine shuts off, she’s reminded to move so she’s not caught staring, waiting for him like some puppy, like the little girl she used to be.

By the time Mary’s back in her chair at the table, she can hear the key in the lock. Mary picks up her pencil at the last second and trains her eyes on the book in front of her. She looks busy; that’s the idea.

“Hey, Mary.” When she looks up, the sight of him hits her like a slap in the face. His hair is a little disheveled,  his clothes look like they’ve been through the wringer, but there’s a smile on his face that tells a story she isn’t ready to hear. He closes the door behind him. “Thought you’d’ve run out of homework by now.”

“Nope.” Mary looks down again, scribbles down a definition that she’s already confident she’ll remember. She tries to focus on her studies, but she’s hyper-aware of Dean’s presence in the room, how she can smell the scent of liquor and perfume with each step he takes to where she sits.

He walks a little slow, almost like he’s dragging his feet. Dean’s always been a little looser after his dates, Mary’s noticed, but this one clearly left her big brother a little dazed. She doesn’t look up when he leans over her to look at her books, placing one hand on the table and the other on the back of her chair so he can steady himself.

That’s when it hits her.

There’s something else under Dean’s scent, emanating from him. Mary can smell it, he’s so close and the way he sweats doesn’t hide it from her, either. It’s something she might have missed a few times, maybe a hundred, but when she thinks about it, it’s obvious. Dean is obvious.

He smells like sex.

Just that thought makes her stomach turn, her heart race and her breath catch in her throat. Dean says something from her side that she doesn’t catch, doesn’t bother recollecting because it doesn’t sound like a question. Only when he leans back up and steps away from her does she remember to breathe, remember to blink away from the bold words she’d locked her eyes on.

Dean grabs one of the plastic cups by the sink and fills it with water. Mary doesn’t watch him drink it down because she’s still processing the realization that Dean went out on a date, had some drinks and had  _ sex _ . He was out for hours, having a good time and fucking some girl who doesn’t know who he really is, probably wouldn’t care to find out.

Mary’s gripping her pencil so hard that her fingers are turning white, so she has to set it down. Dean turns around and leans against the sink, and it gives Mary the chance to take his appearance in for what it really is, as much as she hates it.

“Take it Sammy’s in the shower?” She watches his lips as he asks her, discovers the pink tint there on his mouth, the color of lipstick wiped away. It’s on his neck, too, where he forgot to clean the evidence before coming back to the motel. 

Just the way he stands is an indicator, with his hips out and his shoulders relaxed. Mary doesn’t like that Dean’s having sex, but hell, if it doesn’t look good on him. “Yeah.” 

Her voice is dull, and it nearly cracks with the one-syllable response. The silence that follows puts an emphasis on the sound of the shower from inside the bathroom. Mary’s usually good at keeping up with time, but she has no idea how long Sam’s been in there, if he’ll ever come out and give her something else to look at, something that’s not  _ Dean _ .

The shower turns off, and the room is silent beyond the rattle of the air conditioner.

Dean’s still holding his cup, determined to drink his water so he won’t get a hangover—a trick John taught him. Mary doesn’t know why she can’t stop looking at him, doesn’t fully understand why she thinks she should look away. 

“You okay?”

She’d been avoiding his eyes, and when she looks up, they almost look sincere. It’s the first time she’s been asked that question in a while, the first time she’s received a look like that since she started having to lie about her schooling. Mary looks away again, looking at the table and all her books. It’s the same sight Sam had when he had his lore and history books to research for the case, but what Mary’s doing isn’t for the good of a hunt, the family business; it’s for herself. 

“I’m fine. Just tired,” she sighs, but she likes the work, the distraction it gives her. “Big test tomorrow.”

“Eh, you’ve got it. Figured Sam would be studying with you since Dad closed the case.”

“Sam and I don’t have the same teacher at this school.” Mary thought she told him before, but there’s a possibility she didn’t. Ever since he got the Impala for his birthday, he’s been out more, away from them.

It irks her more than she’s willing to admit to anyone, sans Sam.

“Oh.” Dean tilts his head and Mary feels his eyes on her as she moves to close her books. “Makes sense.”

The bathroom door opens and Sam steps into the room, his hair wet and his hands holding onto his bundle of dirty clothes. Mary and Dean both turn to look at him, and he stops under their gaze.

Sam looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and his hazel eyes dart between his brother and sister. “What?”

Mary shrugs, quirks a smile that only Sam can see. “Took you long enough.”

Sam’s expression doesn’t change, but he does lick his lips and look at Dean. “You’re home early.”

“Maybe you’re up late.” Dean downs the last of his water in one gulp and sets his cup down by the sink. “Hope you saved me some hot water.”

Sam looks like he might roll his eyes, but he doesn’t. Mary watches as her twin eyes Dean, squinting his eyes as he takes him in the same as she did when Dean walked in. “Yeah, you look like you need a shower.”

Dean looks like he’s going to take offense, but when he closes his mouth before anything comes out. He’s not going to dispute it, is probably too exhausted to try. Mary tries not to think about why, just watches her twin drop his clothes into his bag before getting into bed.

Suddenly, Mary feels incredibly tired.

The chair scrapes against the linoleum floor as she moves to stand, and Dean moves around her with practiced ease. They’re used to living so close together, but Mary’s starting to wonder how close they really are.

All three of them.

“Be out in a few,” Dean says before he slips into the bathroom, which is code for ‘don’t wait up.’ The door closes behind him and Mary pushes her chair back under the table so she can at least gather her books into a pile.

She’s too tired to put them back in her bag, so she leaves them like that on the table. Mary makes her way over to the light switch to turn off the kitchen light, double-checks the locks on the door for good measure. 

Everything’s the same, but Mary feels that something’s different, has been different for maybe a while.

The shower is going again, and Mary suddenly feels like she needs one, too. But she’s too tired, figures she can take one in the morning after she’s had her sleep. When she turns around to look at Sam, she only sees the back of his head, the rest covered by the blankets.

Of course, he doesn’t say a word to her.

Mary can think of a million things to say to Sam, a million things she wants to ask him. Her steps fall silent on the carpet on her way to their bed, quiet as she grabs her bag from under the bed. Sam’s lying on his side and can’t see her, so she sees no harm in changing into comfortable clothing for bed.

She completely misses how Sam tenses when she opens the zipper.

It takes her a minute at most, making it quick despite the fact that Sam can’t see her. But he’s definitely awake, and he must know what she’s doing. They just don’t say anything.

A year ago, that would have been fine. Now… it’s almost not.

Mary drops her back onto the floor and shoves it back under the bed. She takes the tie out of her hair and puts it around her wrist before she gets into the bed.

The bed is small, but Sam’s still on the opposite edge like he’s ready to fall off. It’s like he’s leaving room for someone invisible to come and lay between them, something that’ll separate them more than Mary already feels they might be.

“Sam?” She’s facing him, looking at the back of his head. Her hand reaches out on instinct to run her fingers through his hair, but she stops just before she touches the first strand. Instead, she rests her hand on his shoulder, feeling his warmth through the think blanket.

This time, she feels the way he jumps. It’s small, but it’s there, and it makes him draw in a sharp breath. “Yeah?”

So many things to say, and she can only settle on one. “Are we okay?”

There’s a pause when all Mary can hear is her heart in her ears. Maybe she doesn’t want to know the answer, but she doesn’t give up as she rubs his arm with her hand, a soothing gesture. 

Sam leans into it, if only for a moment before he turns over onto his stomach, still facing away. “We’re fine, Mary.”

Part of her believes him, while the other part might still know when her twin is lying. “Okay.”

“Okay.” That’s all he’s willing to offer.

Mary takes what she can get, and decides she can’t worry about it if she wants to get enough sleep for her test. So, she makes herself comfortable to sleep, but she never turns away from her twin. “Goodnight, Sam.”

“Night, Mary.”

And as always, they leave the light on for Dean.

* * *

The testing is… well, easy. Easier than everything else Mary’s struggling with, everything she doesn’t fully understand because it’s not written out for her in a textbook. She’s through testing by lunch, and by the end of the day, she has her results.

She’s qualified for high school.

John shows up on time for once, ready to sign them out of the school before the last bell rings. Mary would mind if she was in an actual class, but she finished testing before lunch, and she only just got the news that her scores were adequate.

She sits outside the office with Sam by her side, their legs touching because the bench is too small for them not to. Mary doesn’t mind it, but she can’t help the way she shakes where they touch, bouncing her knee like she’s trying to do it purposefully. Sam doesn’t say anything. 

Truth is, she’s terrified of John walking back out with the knowledge that she’s skipped a grade right under his nose. The silence between her and Sam feels like the calm before the storm, the one raging along the skyline and chasing after them no matter how far they drive.

Mary can see it, now. Hears the thunder rolling through the otherwise empty hallway. If Sam hears it, knows it’s there, he doesn’t show any sign of recognition.

The door to the office squeaks open, and Mary holds her breath as they look up to see their father. He holds their papers in his hands, two thick folders held between calloused fingers. Mary already knows the heavier one belongs to her.

“Let’s go.” He doesn’t sound angry, but there’s something behind his voice that Mary recognizes. He nods towards the doors at the end of the corridor, and Mary looks to Sam. He doesn’t share the look like he normally would, instead moving in silence to throw his bag over his shoulder. 

This is not the routine Mary is used to, but it’s close enough, has to be. She follows Sam’s lead, and they let John direct them out of the middle school without so much as a glance at each other.

John tucks the files beneath his arm as he pushes the right door open, followed closely by the twins. Mary focuses on Sam instead of John because she’s trying to come up with a way to tell him, tell both of them about what she’s done, what she’s accomplished.

They walk to the campus parking lot in silence. Before, they would have walked to the high school to get Dean, but since he turned eighteen, John makes him check himself out to save time. Mary doesn’t have to look for the Impala in the parking lot because she knows she won’t find it there. Dean’s probably already back at the motel loading their things into the car. 

That’s how this works: how John makes it work. 

Even without telling them what to do, they follow suit like soldiers. Mary’s extra cautious, lets Sam sit in the middle when they get in the truck because she can’t think that close to John, especially not between the two of them. 

It’s a shame that the drive to their motel isn’t farther. Mary’s still speechless when they pull into the parking lot, and the image of Dean leaning up against the trunk doesn’t help. He always looks so cool and collected, especially when he’s out in the sun and you can see his freckles.

Just the sight of him eases her, if only for a moment. Then it all comes back, and she’s stuck with the same problem. Her first instinct is to get out of the truck when John parks it next to the Impala, so she’s the first one out. Sam follows after her, and John’s quick to hop out with them, circling around to face Dean.

“Got everything loaded up?”

Dean straightens up as soon as John’s in sight, holding his shoulders back as he takes the motel key out of his pocket and holds it to him. “Yessir.” 

“Good.” John takes the key and goes to their door, determined to give the place one last look so they don’t leave anything behind, nothing questionable or too revealing about their lifestyle.

It doesn’t take long because Dean’s good at following orders, and he didn’t leave so much as a trace of salt. John’s out and locking the door again within a minute, just to walk down to the office and drop the key off in the box.

His boots are heavy on the concrete, so that they all wait to move until they hear them come back. Mary’s still stuck in her head about her schooling when he comes back, so lost in thought that she almost misses what he says.

“Sam, you ride with Dean. Mary’ll ride with me.”

It’s her name that makes her look to him, her green going wide while her heart races in her chest, pounds in her ears. John doesn’t have to say anything else before he walks to his side of the truck, leaving Mary to look to her brothers. 

They’re as surprised as she is. Since John got the truck, he’s mostly ridden alone. Especially when moving like this, it was common for the three of them to ride in the Impala, with Dean behind the wheel following his lead.

The sound of the truck door slamming closed makes her jump, and she realizes that neither of her brothers can help her. Dean moves first to get in the car, and Sam reaches for the handle to get into the back seat, but Dean stops him.

“Uh-uh. You’re not sleeping yet, you’re up front with me.”

Sam stops, but he keeps his hand where it is. “I was just gonna read.”

“Well, you can read in the front seat.” Dean closes the door with finality, and Mary sees something pass over Sam’s features before he removes his hand from the door. He moves to the other side of the Impala without looking back at his twin, his face unreadable while he grips his bag right on his shoulder. Mary left hers in the truck, almost like she knew it would come to this.

Both engines startup at the same time, and she feels the asphalt shake with them beneath her shoes. She has no choice but to reach for the door, pull it open settle into her seat across from her father, the one who’s never yelled at her directly but might just do it today.

Mary puts on her seatbelt because she actually has one, and when she looks up, John’s eyes are already focused on the asphalt, backing up so they can pull out of the parking lot and finally hit the road.

She can see the Impala close behind them in the rearview mirror, can almost see Sam and Dean beyond the glare of the sun in the reflection. Mary wonders what they’re talking about, what they must think, if they’re as worried for her as she is for herself.

It’s silent between Mary and her father, and it’s almost painful without the radio to provide some kind of noise. All she can hear is the road, the engine, the wind against them when they hit the interstate.

At that point, it must be enough.

“So,” John breaks the silence after what feels like hours, “we gonna talk about this?”

Her stomach drops. The vents are blowing cool air, but Mary’s palms are sweating where she rubs them on her jeans. She doesn’t want to look at him, but she knows he’s waiting for just that.

“Mary.” He doesn’t bark it, never barks her name unless it’s tied to one of her brothers’. Instead, he sounds firm, almost calm. Mary looks up and turns to see him looking at her, glancing between her and the road. She bites her lip before she can think of anything to say.

“How long have you known?”

John lets out a huff that sounds like it could have been a laugh. Mary wonders how amused he really is, since he isn’t furious like she’d expected. “Since the beginning. Your teacher gave me a call, said she wanted to go over things. I take it the papers she gave you got signed?”

Hell, he doesn’t even look mad. Something about that unsettles her more than if he would just yell at her. Mary has to look away, back out the window, into the mirror. The Impala is too far back to see either of her brothers. “Yessir,” she confesses.

He laughs again, a real laugh that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “That’s my girl.”

Mary’s reeling, looks back to her father like she has no idea who he is. “You’re not mad?”

“Mary…” There it is again, the way he says her name like it’s something he just remembered, something to be said softly. Then he looks at her, and she can see the way his eyes soften when he takes in her expression. He sighs, “Look, I’m not thrilled you kept it from me. Or that you thought you had to.”

“What would you have done if I called?”

“I would’ve either answered or called you back the first chance I got. You know that.”

Mary wants to roll her eyes, but she knows better than that. That’s one of those childish habits she should probably get rid of, like the rest of them. Seems she really is growing up fast, just like her twin, just like Dean. “What would you have said?”

“Hell, you just tested into high school, and you don’t know the answer to that one?” His tone is light, and it almost makes her smile. It’s just enough to lighten the weight in her chest, weighing on her heart since she started keeping things from him and her brothers. John looks at her again with what’s got to be a smile on his lips. “Truth is… I’m real proud of you, Mary.”

Those words hit her like a punch in the gut, powerful enough to steal the breath from her lungs, make her forget how to breathe. She looks at him, and his expression seems as sincere as he’s ever been with her. 

He seems to pick up on what she’s thinking just by looking at her. “Wish you would’ve told me before, but you did it. Your teacher seemed real impressed, too. So am I.”

Mary thinks she could cry, but she’s mostly in shock that John is saying all this to her, that he’s not mad at her. There has to be a catch. “You mean it?”

“Damn right, I mean it. My pride and joy, working hard to skip a grade so she can get out there sooner.”

There it is. The sudden realization hits her that John’s not saying he’s proud of her for her hard work or her intelligence. He’s proud because he thinks she did it for him, for the family business. Real tears form in Mary’s eyes and she has to look out the window before John can see them. “Yeah,” she whispers. “That’s why.”

John sighs next to her, heavy as he tries to assess her like he could have any comprehension of what’s going on inside her head. Like he knows her at all. Still, he tries, “Look, I get it. Dean’s been taking more cases with me, and Sam’s been doing research to back us up. I know you probably think I want you to stay out of it—”

“Dad, please.”

“—but that’s not it.” John pauses for a moment, and Mary still can’t look at him. “Dean’s been primed for hunting for a long time, and Sam’s almost ready, but you? You’re most important. How many times’ve you patched one of us up after a bad hunt or a tricky case?”

Mary doesn’t want to answer, and she’s lucky he doesn’t wait for her.

“Too many.” It comes out low, almost like he doesn’t want her to hear it. “But don’t worry. You’ll have your chance soon enough.”

Somehow, she doubts that. The silence settles between them once more; this time, Mary has nothing to add to it. John knows, it’s out there, and he’s not mad for all the wrong reasons.

Her tears leave trails down her cheeks, meet on her chin where she can wipe them away without John taking much notice. At some point, he reaches for the radio to turn on some music. Mary just looks out the window and into the rearview mirror, finds the headlights of the Impala right behind him, the sunset glaring in the distance, almost to the horizon.

Soon, she’ll have to tell Sam and Dean. 

But that’s the least of her problems.

* * *

The truth comes out the following Monday when John enrolls her into the high school instead of the junior high with Sam. There are mixed feelings all around, with Dean the most thrilled.

“Don’t worry, Mary,” he reassures her, “I’ll make sure no one fucks with you.”

He hardly gets the chance. There’s little to the rest of the school year, and Mary’s good at keeping her head low when she knows she’s not going to see her twin no matter where she looks. The curriculum is different, a little harder than she expects, but it’s a start. 

Her freshman year lasts all of a couple months, and she ends up taking the state tests in Pennsylvania. She passes with flying colors. It’s a success that guarantees her a spot as a sophomore in any school once the next semester starts.

Dean spends most of his time hunting with John, leaving Sam and Mary to themselves. Sam likes to go to the library, even when he’s not doing research. Mary follows after him a few times before she gets the message: he’s there to be alone.

The truth of that hurts a little more than it should, but Mary can’t deny her twin his space now that they’re getting older. It’s just that she’s so used to having Sam close by, always in reach when they could be. Mary doesn’t like it, but it’s only a matter of time before they’re back on the road again. 

It’s what John’s been talking about since Sam started taking a serious interest in the research, something he hasn’t shut up about since their fourteenth birthday.

It’s something Mary should have seen coming, something she always knew was inevitable.

Sam’s first hunt.

The whole year feels different, and the feeling it leaves keeps evolving. The summer of 1997 winds to an end before they know it. Even the end of July can feel like a cool August morning when you’re in the northern states, but the heat always catches up by mid-day. Mary doesn’t mind the time on the road; she feels at home there. Sometimes she gets to share the backseat with her twin, sometimes she gets it to herself, and sometimes she gets to sit up front with Dean.

It’s become the only time where she doesn’t mind the silence between them, where it doesn’t feel like there’s something missing. The music Dean plays from the box of tapes is like a soundtrack to their lives, to their very existence. Mary finds her peace somewhere between the notes of a Led Zeppelin song and AC/DC.

In a way, she’s just happy to have the time with her brothers. She knows she could lose Dean to a hunt any day now, knows Sam’s next in line to do the same. The thought of losing either of them is enough to make her bite her nails, lose herself to the what-ifs of it all.

It keeps her up at night, that very thought. She’s waiting for John to say the words, to call her twin away to hunt something, to seek out something that goes bump in the night.

Something that could take him from her.

Mary wonders if she could join them, but she knows what John’s answer will be. She’s supposed to stay home, wait for them to get back so she can patch them up for the next hunt. It should make her feel better to be of use, but it doesn’t. It makes her feel helpless. She imagines Sam out hunting, and she knows anything could go wrong, something so wrong that she can’t fix it, won’t be able to patch it up. 

That’s the thing about hunting. Any little mistake could be your last.

John finally brings it up towards the end of July, and Mary already knows what’s going on when she recognizes the landmarks on the way to Bobby’s. She can see the way Dean keeps looking at Sam while he drives, like he knows something they don’t. Something he’s afraid to say.

When they get there, Bobby’s already got a plan together. He’s not so sure about Sam coming along, either, but he doesn’t say anything to John the whole time they’re discussing it. Mary doesn’t add much of anything because she’s not involved, and she really doesn’t want to be.

She unpacks upstairs in the guest bedroom where she and Sam always sleep. When she’s done, she finds she can’t stop thinking about the hunt, about her twin in the face of danger, the face of death.

The house suddenly feels too small, so she finds something to do outside in the yard. She brings every knife she keeps in her bag with her and finds the old tree she’s used for target practice since she was old enough to handle a blade.

Every time Mary throws one of her knives, it feels like she’s trying to force something out of herself with it. Every time one sticks into the bark, she expects to feel some relief, but it does little to change her attitude. She wishes she couldn’t feel it, any of it.

Sometimes she feels so much that she can’t understand it, doesn’t know where it comes from or what to call it. It’s just  _ there _ , might have always been. Mary tries not to dwell on it.

Like clockwork, she throws her knives and then walks to the tree to collect them all again. She doesn’t have to look behind her to know when the back door opens, just as she doesn’t have to look to know who it is.

“You can quit staring at me.” She wipes each knife off on her shorts as she pulls them from the tree once more, reminding herself to sharpen them later. Dean’s standing on the back steps of Bobby’s house, wordless but full of thought, no doubt. She thinks she knows what he’s thinking. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” His boots are heavy on the steps as he makes his way to the grass, approaches her as she pulls the last of her knives from the bark. “You’re worried.”

“And you’re not?” It’s rhetorical, and she almost wants him to answer. She wants to know she’s right.

He doesn’t answer it. Dean clears his throat, scratches the back of his head and tries to find something better to say. “Look, I know you’re worried about Sam, but—.”

Mary sticks one of the blades back in the bark before he can say anything else. She holds it there for a moment, but she knows it’s stuck and won’t come out without another sharp tug. “I’m  _ always _ worried, Dean. About him, about you—”

“We’ll be fine.”

She closes her eyes, grips the knife she’s stabbed into the tree until her knuckles turn white. “But can you promise me that?”

There’s no way he can. She knows this. And there’s nothing she can say that will change anybody’s mind, so she doesn’t want to say anything anymore. 

“Hey.” Dean’s closer now, and he gets her to turn to him with a hand on her arm. When she meets his eyes, she can see the cloud of conflict behind green, the storm that’s always been there and grown darker through the years. “He’ll be back, okay?”

“In a body bag, maybe.”

It’s such a cruel thing to say, and she wishes she could take it back as soon as it slips past her lips. Her words make Dean flinch and blink in surprise, and Mary lets go of the knife to let her arm fall to her side, desperate to apologize, but she doesn’t know what to say because she knows she’s not wrong.

Dean keeps his hand on her arm, but the rest of him straightens up like he’s a soldier reporting for duty.“Alive,” he vows. “He’ll come back alive.”

Part of her wants to pull away to avoid Dean when he’s like this, while the other part of her wants to draw as close to him so he’ll stop acting so tough, so distant. She thinks if she does, she’ll never let go. It’s one thing for one of her brothers to risk their lives; both at once is more than she’s ready to risk.

But none of that happens. Instead, her eyes well with tears, the only hint to what she’s really feeling inside. “Promise me, then.”

“You know I can’t.” He sighs heavily and releases some of the tension in his shoulders, shedding the soldier’s facade. Dean lets his hand slide from her arm to her hand, and somehow it just makes her ache more inside, tugs at her heart when he holds it. His eyes linger there, but Mary can still see him thinking carefully for his next words. "I’ll do everything I can to protect him. And I’ll bring him back. I swear.”

He meets her eyes again as he says it, just so she can see the honesty there. There are no words to thank him, no words to explain the conflict that’s raging inside her. There’s just Dean and the look in his eyes, his hand holding hers while he does the best to promise the world to her.

Then there’s the sound of John’s voice from the front of the house, calling for Sam and Dean to get the car together so they can leave before nightfall.

Dean drops her hand and turns as if to shout back to their father, but Mary’s already dropping the knives she held in her other hand so she can wrap her arms around him like a stubborn little kid. The force of it nearly makes Dean stumble, but he holds himself up while Mary just holds him tight, presses her ear to his chest and doesn’t let go.

He’s slow to move, but he lets his arms wrap around her in return. Mary closes her eyes and feels the tears begin to trail down her cheeks. It can’t last forever, but she’ll take what she can get because moments like these are few and far between these days. She doesn’t want to let go, but she’ll hold on for as long as Dean will let her.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is the only sound that can bring her to let go, the only voice that can call her away from this. Mary parts from Dean’s arms so she can look to her standing where Dean was just minutes ago. Their eyes meet, and it’s one of those rare moments where Sam doesn’t look away from her. “Mary.”

There’s no point trying to hide the tears on her face, but she still wipes them away like they’re supposed to be a secret. “Hey, Sam.”

Dean looks between the two of them before locking eyes with Mary again. She knows what the look on his face means, so she nods to let him know it’s okay. He takes the hint. “I’ll go help Bobby and Dad get loaded up. See you out front in a few minutes, alright, Sammy?”

“Right.” Sam takes those few steps down into the yard and lets Dean slip past him, not seeing the final glance Dean gives to Mary before he finally goes inside. When the door closes behind him, Mary’s left alone with her twin, and she wonders if she should be memorizing how he looks before he leaves. “So. . . do we need to talk about this?”

“Now you want to talk about stuff?” It would be amusing if it didn’t hurt so much. This time, it’s her turn to lie. “No. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Sam winces, but he stands his ground with his hands in his pockets. “Come on, Mary.”

Mary crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at her twin. “Seriously? What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.” She can see him swallow, watches how he struggles with his words in his mind. “Just don’t shut me out. Not right now. I’m not Dad, and I’m not Dean—”

“I know you’re not.” That’s what scares her so much, but she doesn’t want to admit it, can’t put into words even if she wants to. 

“You think I’m gonna get hurt.”

The way he says it almost makes her want to laugh, a bitter huff of breath that doesn’t do anything to relieve the tension in her body. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get hurt?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, lets out a heavy sigh before he glances back at the house. “But we have to learn sometime.” 

Mary knows their father’s words when she hears them, even when they come from her twin brother’s mouth. It makes her roll her eyes and bend down to pick up the knives she dropped. If John saw, he would have made sure she never forgot how to treat her knives properly. Not toys. Weapons.

That’s all they are.

“I could talk to Dad, you know. See if you could come with us, just for a lookout.”

“You know he won’t let me.” She wipes the dirt from her knives on her shorts again, doesn’t care about the marks they leave there. One by one, she starts sticking them in the tree for later, same as the one she stabbed into the bark earlier.

“Then what can I do?”

Mary looks at him like she can’t believe he’s asking her something so stupid. She wants to ask why he didn’t just say no, why he didn’t try to back out of this when he had the chance.

“ _ SAM!  _ Get your ass out front, NOW!”

There’s no time left. Sam clears his throat, but he doesn’t move. He just turns his head back towards the house. “Yes, sir!” He calls back to him like a good little hunter, a Winchester that knows his place in the world. Just like Dean. 

It makes Mary want to cry all over again, to release the tears made of anger and sadness derived from the situation she feels like she was born into. But she’s already cried more tears than she’s normally allotted to as a Winchester, so she does her best to blink them away before he has the chance to see.

Sam turns back to her. “I’ll be back,” he says desperately, like he’s trying to convince himself, as well. “I promise, I will.”

Mary doesn’t know how to answer except to wrap her arms wrap around him the way she had with Dean before. Sam’s at the perfect height for her to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her face into his shoulder, to take in his scent and feel how he breathes against her own chest.

It’s the most intimacy they’ve shared in months, and it’s so raw and full of emotion that Mary’s afraid they’ll get in trouble if anyone sees them like this.

Sam gets it; he has to. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her as Dean did, he just does it like he used to, as he always did. She’s never been faced with a situation like this before, knowing that her twin is going to leave her and go put his life in danger.

Mary knows she shouldn’t, but suddenly she’s crying again, murmuring against his neck, “Just come back to me, okay?”

If Sam can feel her tears soaking into his shirt, he doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he holds her tighter, so close that she can feel his breath against her skin as he answers, “I’ll always come home.”

Those words break her as they burrow deep into her chest and wrap around her heart, aching in a way that makes her feel more alive than anything ever has before. 

“Here.” She remembers the weight of the pocketknife in her pocket, the knowledge that he’ll need it more than she does. She pulls out of their embrace and wipes her eyes with one hand while the other seeks it from her pocket to place it in his hand. “Take this with you.”

He doesn’t have to look to know it’s the one she got for their birthday last year, the one made out of pure silver with her name carved into the side. It’s heavy in his hand, the weight of her very heart in his palm. 

Sam nods, closes his fingers around it. “Okay.”

She watches him pocket it, and there’s so little time and such little space between them. She thinks one last time about how this could be the last time she sees her twin, and in that instant, she has nothing to lose. Before she can think twice about what she’s doing, she closes the space between them to place a kiss to his lips, innocent as a goodnight and careful as a goodbye.

The sound of the Impala’s horn blaring from the opposite side of the house makes them jump apart, and for a moment, they can’t look away from each other.

Sam breaks the shared gaze first, puts his hands in his pockets again as he walks backwards towards the house again. “I’ll, uh… I’ll see you later, Mary.”

Sam’s going through the doors before Mary can think of anything else to say. For a moment, she expects herself to follow, but she can’t bring herself to move. Instead, she finds herself turning towards that tree again. The sun is starting to set, and she suddenly wishes she could stay out long enough to watch it fall to the horizon.

But the dark is a scary place to be when you’re all alone.

Mary wipes her eyes makes her way into the house so she can see them off. John doesn’t bother going through the rules with her because she’s always followed them, even before she knew what they were for. She stands on the porch when they drive off, the boys in the Impala with John while Bobby drives the truck. 

She doesn’t move until she can’t hear their engines anymore. By then, she can see the darkness coming, feels the summer breeze as it rattles the trees. The wood squeaks beneath her shoes as she makes her way back inside, making quick work of retrieving her knives so she can clean them and put them away.

Mary has to go upstairs to put them away, tucking them under their bed. When she stands, she sees Sam’s bag on the bed, open and forgotten about in their rush to leave. Since she has nothing better to do, she decides she’s going to unpack his things like she did her own. It’s something to do, and it makes her feel at home. 

It makes her feel like he has to come back, just to see what she’s done. She puts his clothes in the dresser, his belongings in the nightstand on his side. That’s when Mary finds a book in his belongings, one she’s never seen before. It looks worn like it’s been read many times, but Mary can’t recall ever seeing Sam with it.  _ Flowers in the Attic _ .

Something about it feels secret, like Sam was hiding it, buried deep in his bag beneath everything else. Mary’s tempted to read the words on the back as if it’ll give her a glimpse of what’s been going on with Sam. As much as she’s dying to know, she also realizes that if it’s a secret, then Sam will know she’s seen it. But she doesn’t have to know a thing about it.

Carefully, she places the book by his side of the bed, facing up. Mary places Sam’s empty bag beneath his side of the bed before she leaves the room, stopping only to put their toothbrushes in the guest bathroom.

Finally, she ends up in the living room, desperate for something else to do that will distract her from the knowledge that her brother might not come back to her after tonight. It’s hard not to think about the hunt going wrong, about either of her brothers getting hurt. About Sam getting hurt,  _ really  _ hurt—

Mary closes her eyes and runs her hands through her blonde hair, nearly groaning with the effort to clear her mind of those intrusive thoughts. When she opens them, she looks to the books open on Bobby’s desk. She finds one with a clear picture of a werewolf staring up at her; it’s a book she knows because she’s read it before, as she’s read many of the books inBobby’s collection. She knows what those creatures are capable of, the damage they can inflict and leave behind.

Mary steps closer to the desk so she can close the book. Then she makes a point of closing the others, just because she can.

She’s still thinking about it.

The doors are locked and every window salted, as they always are. The house is secure and so is she, so she decides to take advantage of being somewhere familiar, a place she can enjoy the little things. Completely alone.

The first thing that comes to her mind is a bath.

They’re supposed to be gone for hours, so she can hog the bathroom all she wants. It’s not every day that she has a clean tub to soak in, so Mary runs the water hot just the way she likes it. It’s a comfort when she slips into the bath, the warmth of the water seeping deep to her bones and forcing her to relax when she’s never been so tense. 

The house is silent, a reminder of how alone she really is. It’s dark outside, and the light above the sink makes the wallpaper in the bathroom look yellow. It makes Mary think of summer days and the flowers she sees blooming by the roadsides, the dandelions that spring free from the cracked asphalt of a motel parking lot.

Her eyes slip closed, and she sighs to herself. Suddenly, she wishes for the music of the Impala, the kind Dean likes to play. Somewhere from inside her, a humming begins, and it comes out in the tune of Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters,” one of their shared favorites.

When she opens her eyes, the water’s cold and she’s damn near freezing. There’s the distinct sound of a phone ringing from down the hall, just loud enough to catch her attention: the sound that woke her up. 

Mary grabs her watch off the side of the tub and checks the time. It’s late. Not too late for a hunt, but she’s still quick to get out of the bath. She wraps her towel around herself and makes her way downstairs where she can still hear the phone ringing persistently.

She follows the sound down the stairs only for ringing to stop at the last step. Frustrated, she finds her way to the kitchen where she knows Bobby keeps many phones, and she waits for one of them to ring again. 

She’s not technically supposed to answer any of them, but still. It could be one of them calling to check in, maybe, just to tell her they’re okay and heading back.

None of them ring again, not even the landline. Mary’s heart starts to pound a little in her chest, but she’s starting to feel cold in just a towel. She dashes back up the stairs so she can get dressed, putting on one of Sam’s shirts because it helps.

By the time she’s dressed and brushing her hair, she can hear the ringing again. Mary puts her brush back on the dresser and goes downstairs again. But by the time she steps into the kitchen, the ringing stops again, but it’s not silent.

Instead, Mary can hear the rumble of that engine she knows so well, with the echo of the truck following it.

The Impala’s horn blares once, twice, and a third time. It’s a code, one Mary knows well, and just hearing it makes her knees nearly buckle beneath her. There’s only a short pause before she hears it again, that one-two-three getting closer while Mary’s blood runs cold.

Three honks mean that something went wrong.

Mary’s running for the door before she has time to think, neglecting to put any shoes on before she rips open the front door and races off of the porch, her heart like a lump in her throat and a drum in her ears. The first thing she sees is the glare of headlights before the Impala screeches to a halt, throwing gravel at her bare feet. 

John doesn’t even shut the engine off before he’s opening the door and slamming it closed behind him with such force that it makes Mary jump. He strides around the front of the car to stand in front of Mary.

Her breath catches in her throat at the look of anger on his face pointed directly at her. “Dad—”

“What the hell were you doing in there?” Before she can answer, he bites out, “Didn’t you hear the phone?!”

Mary’s mouth falls open, but nothing comes out even though she knows she has the answers. Instead, she stares up at her father in awe at the anger in his voice, shaken by the very fact that he just yelled at her directly. 

It’s a rude awakening, especially when she notices the bloodstains on his clothes, the smear of it on either of his hands. That’s when she looks to see Dean stepping out of the back seat of the car.

She licks her dry lips and blinks away the tears in her eyes as any Winchester does. “What happened?” All she can see is that Dean’s got blood on him, too; they all do. Dirty blood that’s fresh but drying, and the three of them are fine. It’s not their blood.

“Sammy’s hurt.” 

Dean’s voice is gruff, his expression hard even though Mary can see the concern in his eyes, panic barely subsided. He clenches his jaw as he reaches into the back seat for Sam. Dean lifts Sam out of the car bridal style, and the younger Winchester lets out a hurt noise like a soft cry of pain in being lifted. Mary takes a step forward so she can get the full view of her twin, of the scratches on his face and all the gauze hastily wrapped around his left leg, the fabric torn around it and dyed a dark red with blood.

Something clicks in Mary’s head then, and she remembers what she has to do. She suddenly stands up straight, puts her shoulders back like a soldier reporting for duty. Her brother is hurt, and as the most medically skilled and steady person among them, she must play her part.

Mary’s wastes no time in pulling her hair back and tying it up with the hairband she always keeps on her wrist. She looks back to her father, who’s watching as Dean begins to carry Sam up towards the house. She follows his gaze, has to silence the pounding in her chest. “I’ll get everything ready.”

Sam doesn’t look up or say a word while Dean carries him up to the porch, nor does he acknowledge when Mary dashes past them to open the door. Dean nods his thanks to her, and John and Bobby follow in behind them. Mary makes her way around her brothers so she can get the medical kits, her own and Bobby’s for good measure. 

By the time she returns to the kitchen, they’ve already moved the table to the middle of the room, right under the light. Sam winces and hisses as Dean lays him on its surface, and the way he clutches at Dean’s shirt makes Mary want to cry.

There’s no time for that; she sets the kits on the counter so she can wash her hands in the sink. It’s the only moment she has to gather herself before she has to face them, before she has to do her job and clean up the mess their hunt left.

“Quickly,” John snaps. “He’s already lost a lot of blood.”

Mary dries her hands and grabs a glass to fill with water before she finds the pills Sam obviously needs in her medical kit. When she turns around, Dean’s already elevated Sam’s leg with a stack of books and placing a couch pillow beneath his head as carefully as he can. 

She steps up to the table, and Dean goes to the sink to fill a bowl with warm water. It’s the usual routine, but Mary’s used to having anyone else under her care. Not Sam, her twin whose face is dirty and scratched up like he might have fallen or been dragged. Tear streaks and blood stand out on his skin, and when she looks into Sam’s eyes, she sees a mix of emotions she’s never found there before.

He opens his mouth because he knows what comes first. Mary places the pills on Sam’s tongue and then helps him to lean his head up, bringing the glass of water to his lips so he can swallow them down. 

“Tell me what happened,” she speaks into the open room, expecting someone, anyone to answer her. Sam rests his head back with a soft whine, and Mary only hopes that the medicine starts to work fast.

John clears his throat, and Mary doesn’t have to look at him to know that he’s looking at Dean. Her older brother steps to her side and sets the bowl of water on the chair by her side. He doesn’t look at her as he answers, “Werewolf got him.”

“No.” John’s voice fills the room, and Dean shifts uncomfortably as he goes to stand at the head of the end of the table. “Tell her what happened, Dean.”

Dean keeps his head down, looking over Sam. “He got caught by one of ‘em.”

“How?” John circles around them and stops to stand on the opposite side of the table. “How did he get caught, Dean?"

Mary’s beginning to feel like she’s no longer a part of the conversation, so she begins to go about the process. She places the glass of water by the sink and begins to grab supplies she’ll need from her kit.

“I didn’t know he was gonna—”

“I told you to keep an eye on him. Didn’t I?”

Mary feels the tension, but she’s too focused on her twin to let herself drown in it. She turns back around and she can see how Dean struggles to keep eye contact with John, just the way he’s been taught to. His hands grip the table on either side of Sam’s head, and her twin has closed his eyes as if to shut out the conversation.

“Yes, sir.”

Carefully, Mary begins to unwrap the gauze from her brother’s leg, knowing that the largest wound needs her attention, first. She’s patched her father up before after rough hunts, stitched Dean up a handful of times, but it’s been a while since she’s had to handle this kind of damage.

Dean coughs, clears his throat. “I, uh. I thought I had one in my sights, but another jumped on me. If it weren’t for Sam trying to fight it off—”

“If it weren’t for you getting cocky, he wouldn’t have had to. Now, look at him. I gave you one task, Dean. What did I say? What did I tell you?”

Dean only looks away so he can look at Sam, and for a moment, she thinks she can see his hand inch towards his hair in a comforting gesture. “‘Watch out for Sammy.’”

Sam makes another hurt sound as Mary gets to the last of the gauze, pulling away from the gash on his leg. It’s angry, deep and bloody. It’s the first time Mary’s faced a wound and almost felt it, the pain rushing through her body in a way that almost makes her stomach turn.

Sam’s still bleeding steadily, but not as bad as it must have been before. Mary has to focus and move quickly, so she grabs her scissors to cut the leg of his jeans. Dean helps by taking the cloth from her and disposes of it in the garbage. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” Mary says softly to her twin, to comfort him and herself. She reaches for the towel and dips it in the warm water, preparing to clean around the wound before she has to clean the wound itself. 

Dean returns only to open in a drawer by the sink for a washcloth, dipping it in the bowl of water after Mary does. He returns to the end of the table and focuses on cleaning the dirt from Sam’s face, gentle around the cuts there.

It’s the distraction they need from John’s piercing gaze. Mary doesn’t bother looking up at him, too focused on the task at hand with her very flesh and blood under her care.

“Just stay here and help your sister,” John orders, and the finality in his voice makes Mary look up.

“Wait, where are you going?”

John stops and sighs impatiently, looking back to his daughter. “Moon’s still out, and we have some werewolves to kill.” He nods to Bobby, who looks at John with surprise at being volunteered. “Unless you think you can’t handle this?”

Mary almost flinches at the question, blinking as she looks at her father. All eyes are on her except Sam’s, who she knows must be listening, if only a little. “No,” she answers finally, glancing at Dean before she nods back to their father. “We can handle it.”

“Good,” is all John says before he turns and walks to the door, leaving his children in that kitchen. He takes most of the tension with him, allowing Dean to relax his shoulders and Mary to release the breath she didn’t realize she was holding, returning to the task at hand.

Bobby’s still standing there, hesitant to leave as he looks to the three Winchesters in his kitchen. He looks at them with a concerned look on his face, deepening the lines there. “You sure you’ve got this, kiddo?” 

Mary looks up because she wants to, because Bobby deserves that. “I know what I’m doing, Uncle Bobby. You better hurry, or he might leave without you.” It’s supposed to come out as light as a joke, but they all know she’s serious. He really might.

“If you’re sure. Call if you need anything.”

“Sure thing,” Mary says, just because she thinks he might actually answer if they do.

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean calls after him, catching him before he’s completely out of the kitchen.

Bobby nods to them once, stopping in his steps only to answer, “Anytime, son.” He finally follows after John, leaving Dean and Mary alone with Sam.

“I can take care of this,” she says without looking up to Dean. “You don’t have to stay just because Dad told you to.” 

“I know that.” Dean doesn’t move from where he’s standing, doesn’t stop applying the cloth to Sam’s forehead in a comforting gesture. The way he looks at her makes her meets his eyes, green and piercing under the kitchen light. “I want to.”

Mary knows she’s not going to change his mind, and she knows she doesn’t have the energy to. “Okay,” she says. She’s tempted to reach for his hand, a childish impulse, one she has to ignore in favor of tending to her twin. They keep each other’s gaze for only a moment longer, Dean’s answer given with the slightest nod: they’ve got this.

They’ve got Sam.

And they’re all each other needs.

* * *

If it weren’t for her watch, Mary would have no idea how much time passes before she’s finished. It doesn’t take long for Sam to fall asleep once the pills really hit his system, and Mary’s thankful he doesn’t register the pain. She cleans, stitches, patches, and wraps the wound on Sam’s leg as carefully as she can before she moves on to check the rest of his body. She finds more scratches, the deepest collected on Sam’s sternum where the werewolf was probably going for his heart. She does her best to take care of those, too.

Mary’s exhausted by the time she’s done, her body only running on adrenaline for such early hours of the morning. When she looks up to the window, she can see the first colors of dawn illuminating the sky. It’s then that she feels time catches up to her, and when she looks at Dean, she can see exhausted he is with worry while he looks down at Sam.

“Dean,” she says to her brother, making him lift his head to look at her. “He’s okay. Think you can help me get him upstairs?”

Dean rubs his eyes and stands up straight again, nodding “Yeah, I got him.”

She knows he’s carried the both of them hundreds of times, but they’re not as little as they used to be. Dean still picks Sam up as carefully as he might have when he was a baby, mindful of his bandages as he collects him bridal-style. He watches Sam’s face as he turns, but the younger Winchester only leans closer to Dean, wrapping his arm up around his neck in his sleep.

It almost makes Mary smile, and she sees the way Sam’s fingers seem to grip at the back of the neck where the knot of Dean’s necklace remains. Mary follows after them and locks her eyes there, wonders if Sam knows what he’s doing or if it’s just a natural movement.

The stairs creak with their weight as they make their way up to the second floor. The bedroom door is open from when Mary was last there, so Dean just pushes it open with his boot so he can take Sam inside. He waits for Mary by Sam’s side of the bed, and she takes the hint by pulling back the blankets for him to lay him down.

Sam lets out a soft whine as he’s laid flat, and Mary’s quick to grab one of the pillows from her side of the bed so they can elevate his leg once more. Once he’s settled, Mary pulls the blanket over him. When she stands back up, they both look at him, watching as his pained expression fades back to sleep.

“You did a good job, Mary.” Dean’s voice is low next to her, quiet so they don’t disturb Sam.

“Did I?” Mary doesn’t look away from Sam even though she can see Dean looking at her from the corner of eyes. “I did what I could with what we have; I’m not a doctor.”

“Yeah, well. Some doctors are overrated.” He says it because they know the truth: John would do anything to avoid going to the hospital if they can. It means less paperwork, which means no paper trail. That’s the life of a hunter, you take care of the scene without being seen. 

And why should he have to explain to some doctors how Sam got hurt when he could just bring him back to Mary like every other hunt?

Mary used to take pride in the responsibility, being able to do something to help. Now, she wonders how many times she can handle it, especially if Sam’s supposed to continue hunting sooner rather than later. “What if he’d needed a blood transfusion? He lost a lot.”   
  
“I know,” Dean answers, quick like he’s thought about it. “I’d have given my blood for him.”

Part of her wants to comment that Dean doesn’t have the right blood type, but she’s too tired to argue.“Me, too.” She says it without thinking, and as an afterthought, she adds, “And I don’t blame you.” Mary finally turns her head so she can look at Dean. “You couldn’t have stopped Sam. I probably couldn’t, if he was trying to protect you.”

Dean’s expression changes from tired to something else, and he looks down before Mary has the chance to read it. “I should have been protecting him.”

“You were.” There’s that impulse again, the need to reach for Dean’s hand like she wanted to hours ago, standing at the table. Mary can’t stop herself this time, lets her hand find Dean’s between them, and she’s relieved when he just lets her. “You did, Dean”

Dean’s looking down at their hands clasped together before he looks at Sam, the very sight of him reassuring. “If you say so.”

They stay like that for a few moments, hands clasped together while they soak in the relief that Sam is okay, that they’ve done all that they can for now. Finally, Dean lets go of Mary’s hand and runs his fingers through his hair. “I’ll clean up downstairs. You’ve done enough.”

“Have I?” Mary’s exhausted, but her brother’s still hurt where he sleeps in their bed.

“Yeah.” Dean's voice comes soft but sounds certain. He’s not going to let her convince him otherwise, and Mary doesn’t have the strength to. “You really have.”

The way he looks at her as he says it makes something stir in Mary, a feeling that brings a smile to her lips for the first time in what feels like years. She just lets it happen, smiling only to reach out to push playfully at his shoulder. “Out, then. I’ll take care of him.”

“I said to sleep.” He turns towards the door, slipping away from Mary’s reach. He pauses at the door, “I’ll check in later.”

Mary nods again because she knows there’s no use in denying Dean. Something about him wanting to come in and check on them makes her feel small again, like the little kid she used to be. The kid that Dean raised, always trying to be that again. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Mary.”

The moment Dean closes the door is the moment Mary’s left alone with her twin. She turns to look at him again, fast asleep from the painkillers. His chest rises with slow, deep breaths. Mary knows the peace on his features will only last as long as the pills, just as his bandages will only last so long before she has to change them once more.

Dean’s always taken care of them, but she’s set on caring for her twin. For now, she feels the exhaustion creeping up on her again, so she turns off the lamp and tries her best not to drag her feet when she walks to the opposite side of the bed. 

She’s not cold, but she still slips under the blankets to be as close to him as he can. Mary settles next to Sam, with a distance between them because that’s what she’s used to, what’s become normal as of late.    
  
Sam’s begun to like his space more and more recently, and Mary can’t deny him the privilege when they’ve always been so close-knit. But now, lying parallel and facing her twin brother, her other half, Mary can’t stop herself from reaching out.

Slowly, Mary reaches out with her hand until her fingertips brush against Sam’s arm. Even in the dark, she knows his body, and she doesn’t stop there. 

Mary brings her hand further up and across Sam until she finds his bare chest, having cut away his shirt to properly access his wounds. Her fingertips drag across the bandaging there, where they cover the claw marks made by the werewolf.   
  
Gently, she presses her palm there. Even with the bandages, she can just barely feel the thrum of his heartbeat. Mary closes her eyes then, lets herself take in his warmth beyond the beat of his heart. It soothes her unlike anything else, and as much as she wants to think she can fall asleep like this, she knows it’s not enough.   
  
Not when he’s never been hurt like this, when she could have lost him. Mary opens her eyes and finds her twin is still sound asleep, so he can’t deny here this one thing. She moves slowly so she doesn’t wake him, shifting closer to him under the blankets.    
  
She used to line up perfectly against him, but it’s been a while since they’ve been close like this. Mary tells herself it’s okay if she just lays next to him, if she just lays her head on his shoulder and keeps his hand on her heart, that’s all. She resists the urge to bring a leg up over his thigh, doesn’t want to risk shifting and hurting him with the rest of his scrapes and bruises in their sleep.

It’s as close as she can get without pushing it, closer than they’ve been in so long. Mary closes her eyes and can hear Sam’s lungs drawing in breath after breath, keeps her hand where she can feel his heartbeat. It’s a steady rhythm, one her own body syncs to without a conscious thought.   
  
Somewhere in the distance, she thinks she might hear the sound of an engine, announcing the arrival of their father and Bobby.

She’s asleep before they have the chance to catch her.

* * *

“Sam? Sam!"

Hazel eyes snap open to rays of sunlight, the dust of the old house illuminated in its beams. The light doesn’t quite catch his eyes, but the sting of tears does. He’s breathless, sweating and lying on his back with an all too familiar weight by his side.

It’s astounding, how he takes her in before he registers the pain that thrums through his body, a soreness that does nothing to soothe the pain in his right leg, the burn of the bandages against the cuts on his chest or the scrapes on his skin. The rays of light pass just over her head and past Sam, illuminating her blonde hair, casting a shadow to her face.

“Are you okay?”

The way she looks at him makes his chest ache in a different way, right around where she’s got her hand resting on his chest. Sam knows he should answer, but he’s suddenly aware that he’s shirtless, pantless and entirely in his underwear with Mary pressed against his side.

“Y-Yeah.” His voice comes out scratchy, the consequence of what happened last night. When that thing got him, the werewolf. How he screamed, called Dean’s name as he was dragged away, claws in his skin. 

For once, she looks away before he does. Her gaze goes to her hand on his chest, where she’s lightly tracing where the bandages adhere to his skin. Sam’s just caught his breath, but he still feels breathless. She seems to notice this, glancing back up at his face.    
  
Quietly, she asks, “Is this okay?”

They haven’t spoken about it; he doesn’t know how to. If he says it, it’ll make it real—more than it already is his dreams, in those thoughts he’s been having for a while now and can’t seem to stop, no matter how hard he tries. But after last night…

“Yeah.” Sam hesitates to bright his hand up from his side, just to rest it on top of Mary’s. It brings her palm to his bare skin, something he hasn’t experienced in so long, and he can see the look of confusion in Mary’s eyes as she watches him do it. “I think so.”

Just to see her smile from that response eases the ache like nothing else. Mary seems to relax more beside him, breathing out, “Good. Thought you were having a nightmare.”

Was he? Sam can’t remember. All he can think of is last night, what happened to him, the moments he thought he would never make it out of those woods alive. Then the way Dean looked at him, the way John  _ yelled _ . 

The way Mary looked at him when they brought him to her.

“Probably was.” Sam’s throat feels dry, but he doesn’t want to move. Not when he has an excuse to lay with Mary like this, to let it happen without feeling so guilty about it. “But I’m awake, now.”

“Thank God.”

“Thank  _ Dean _ .” Sam can’t help it, it’s his name on his lips first before he adds, “And thank you.”

Mary shrugs, still looking at Sam’s hand on hers. “You would’ve done the same.”

“Not like you did.”

She doesn’t disagree because he’s right. As much as Sam wants to move because of how stiff he feels, he knows it could both cause him pain and make Mary move. And that’s the last thing he wants right now.   
  
Especially since he has the perfect excuse to let her stay.

The guilt that’s plagued him for so long takes a backseat to the pain, the fear he felt the night before that leaves him feeling lucky to even be here, to be alive to feel her touch, her warmth. She’s gentle as she lays her head on her shoulder, doesn’t even put her full weight on him.   
  
She’s tense, but not as tense as Sam is. Her touch is innocent, caring as any sister would be, but it’s deeper, more important to Sam than anything. He has to relax so he doesn’t encourage the pain he feels, but there’s still the fear that if she touches him too much for too long, she’ll know.

If she does, she doesn’t show any sign. Instead, she spreads her fingers to let Sam slip between hers, holding him there with their fingers intertwined over his head. “I could have lost you last night.”

Her words are jarring, and for a moment, Sam doesn’t breathe.

“I mean—”

“I know.” Sam can imagine what Mary felt seeing him like that, worse than he is now, patched up by her hands. But he knows that raw fear all too well, the same feeling he had that told him he wasn’t gonna make it, would never see her or Dean ever again unless it was in pieces. “But you didn’t.”

“Maybe not this time.” She whispers it like a secret, like maybe it’ll ease the weight of her words. And she’s right because every hunt is a risk, and there will be more. John and Dean have been hurt before on hunts, and they always get back out there.

That’s the life of a Winchester; there’s no escaping it.

“I told you I’d come home, didn’t I?”

He feels her smile against his shoulder, but when she looks up, he can see the tears that rim her green eyes. Somehow they look brighter like that, with the sadness that lingers there. “Yeah,” she answers, “you did.”

Despite their situation, her smile makes him feel a little lighter. “Guess you’re stuck with me, huh?”

“I hope so.” Just as a tear finds its way out the corner of her eye, Mary brings her hand up to wipe it away. She props her head up on her palm like nothing happened, but they both know he saw it. The blankets move as she does, slipping down until something catches his attention.

Mary isn’t wearing a shirt. The realization makes Sam’s eyes go wide, and he suddenly has to look away before he’s caught staring at her bra. It’s plain and white, nothing special except that she’s wearing it, and he’s never just  _ seen _ her in a bra like this.

She seems to understand because she’s suddenly letting go of his hand so she can pull the blanket back up. “Sorry,” she mutters. “The bandages on your leg were bleeding through earlier, and since we used the last of the gauze last night, I just tore my shirt and wrapped it again. Forgot to put on another one.” 

Technically, he doesn’t mind— _ really _ doesn’t, but she can’t know that. If she wasn’t so afraid of hurting him, she might have thrown her leg over him as she used to, just to get as close to his side as possible. But then she’d find something else, the one thing that could give him away in a moment like this.

His sister is shirtless at his side, and he’s already half hard in his boxers beneath the blankets. It’s as alarming as it is exciting, terrifying as it is exhilarating.

Sam swallows hard, spreads his fingers out over the bandages on his chest because he doesn’t have her hand to hold onto anymore. “How many stitches?” He asks to get his mind off of it, the straps he can still see on her shoulders, teasing him in the corner of his vision without even trying.

“Too many.” He gets the feeling she knows how many, but she’s not going to tell him. “It’ll be a while before they heal, so you have to be careful. If you tear a stitch, it’s not like I can just kiss it better.”

That’s something a mother does, something Dean used to do before John yelled at him for it. Sam wishes it was that simple, easy as a scrape or a bruise that barely needs a band-aid. Sam looks at her mouth then, at her soft lips that he’s thought about too many times to count. 

“Maybe you could.”

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but just saying it makes his heart race. Sam looks back up to see Mary blink in confusion, just before she asks, “What do you mean?”

Sam feels like a deer caught in the headlights, and for a moment, he draws a blank. But the way Mary’s looking at him, studying his face and no doubt reading him like she always tries to—he can’t come up with a lie. There’s no rolling over, no running away from this.

His heart keeps racing, his chest tight as he asks, “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Kiss me.”

Whatever Sam is expecting, it’s not the smile that comes to Mary’s face again. Sam would be relieved if he wasn’t genuinely surprised by her reaction, the way she just answers, “Well, yeah. Of course.” 

Sam can’t believe it. He holds his breath when she leans towards his face, closes his eyes and lets it happen. But her lips never find his, only brush against his cheek with the softest press of her mouth. It lasts only a moment, leaves a gentle tingle on his face that doesn’t fade.

When he opens his eyes again, he meets her gaze without hesitation. He’s come this far, spent so much time burying his feelings just to come close to losing everything the night before. Looking at Mary now, he feels like he has no choice, has to tell her  _ somehow  _ before he runs out of time, out of chances. 

“Not there,” he breathes, raising his hand from where it lies on his chest to reach for her face. Mary watches the movement, her eyes fluttering for a brief moment as they make contact, and she gently leans into the touch before meeting his eyes again. Sam takes it as a good sign, and it gives him the courage he needs. “Here.”

He moves so she doesn’t have to, forcing himself up on his elbow between them so he can bring his face to hers. Sam’s eyes slip closed just before it happens, the very moment their lips touch and everything else ceases to exist. The pain that thrums through his body is suddenly a distant memory; all he knows is that he’s kissing her and she isn’t shoving him away like they both know she should.

They’re both holding their breath, and the room is silent beyond the pounding of Sam’s heart in his ears. He’s careful not to do anything to scare her away from this, only holding her by his hand on her cheek while he soaks in the feeling of her lips, warm and soft against his own.

Sam’s afraid to move, afraid of what comes after this, when they have to part for air and look at each other with the knowledge that this happened, and there’s no going back. 

Just when Sam thinks he should pull away, he feels the smallest shift of movement and then he feels the featherlight touch of Mary’s hand on his. Her hand rests over his, and then she’s the one to move her lips, slow but sure. Sam feels her sigh, breathing out the breath she was holding as their lips finally fit together perfectly, moving together like a real kiss.

It’s almost unreal, how good it feels, how  _ right _ . Sam knows this isn’t the first time they’ve shared a kiss, but it’s the first time they’ve ever kissed like  _ this _ —how they do it in the movies, the same way Dean does with all those girls that don’t deserve him. 

But this is different because it’s Mary, and they shouldn’t be doing this, but they both are. He kissed her and she’s kissing him back in a way that makes him feel lightheaded, held to the earth by the touch of her hand, the press of her lips. It fills his chest with such warmth, his entire being with this feeling that sets him ablaze yet cools the fire that’s been burning, aching inside him for so long.

His first real kiss, and it’s with his twin sister.

Sam’s the first to part, releasing the breath he was holding in what sounds like a sob. He doesn’t move far, only enough to rest his head against hers, to try and catch his breath. Still, he squeezes his eyes shut tight, suddenly aware of the tears there. When he lets his hand fall from her face, Mary chases it with her own before she purposefully intertwines their fingers together, holding him there like if she doesn’t, he’ll be the one to run.

“Sam?”

Her voice is so soft, so alluring in the inches between their mouths, but if Sam kisses her again, he’s afraid he might not stop. Instead, he takes a moment to breathe, gathering himself before he whispers, “Yeah?”

“Look at me.”

Sam looks up slowly, still afraid of what he might find in her face, but it’s nothing like he expects. Mary’s got this serious yet dreamy look in her eyes, her gaze gentle and unashamed like Sam’s is. Her cheeks are tinted pink, her lips a darker shade just from kissing him for a time. 

And then she smiles, and she’s so beautiful like this, more than he ever thought possible.

“It’s okay.” Mary says it for him, but they both need it, he’s sure. "_We're_ okay."

He thinks she understands, now; she has to. Why he’s been so distant, so afraid of giving himself away that he could barely stand her touch.

Even if she only knows the half of it—her half—it’s enough.  


For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little early in the year to cut it off, but we felt the suspense is necessary before leading into what I have in store for 1998. Also, yes I unapologetically referenced Flowers in the Attic, as if this fic wasn't going to be titled "Rosepetals of Sin" as my username is named after. Don't worry, more will come from that!  
I still want to stay on schedule to get every chapter published by the time the series finale airs, but I'm still a little behind on where I would like to be. As always, know that I am always thinking about this story, and even if I am not putting words to paper, I am constantly writing it (and constructing playlists, as one does).  
Until the next chapter, all comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! <3


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